Down and Out in Death City
by Professor Maka
Summary: Soul might have thought not going to jail was the easy part, but between perpetual unemployment, an overachieving superhero girlfriend, and the looming threat of Arachnophobia, life as an ex-villain is a lot harder than it's cracked up to be. SoMa Superhero AU written for Resbang 2014.
1. For Love

**A/N: This fic was written for Resbang 2014. It centers on ex-villain!Soul, and I had a really good time writing about his journey—I hope you all have as good a time reading about it. This is a continuation of an earlier drabble that I highly recommend you read first, "Weapon vs. Meister." It's the first chapter in my new _Down and Out Stories_ collection. There's also an earlier prequel drabble there about how Soul and Maka met in this AU. **

**Shout out to persistentplutonium for the art and to all of my betas for the invaluable feedback (you know who you are and I love you all, mwah!—this wouldn't be the same without you guys!) **

**I do plan to do an omake or two in this universe, so stay tuned to _Down and Out Stories_ if you like what you see.**

**The fantastic new cover is a commission by Peregr1ne on Tumblr and is absolutely amazing. If you like it, please do check out his work.**

* * *

"Number 42," the woman called out, clearly bored. "Now serving number 42."

Soul glanced down at his own number: 56.

Well, fuck it. If 42 wasn't here, it was their loss.

"That's me." He stepped forward.

"What can I get you?" the attendant asked, not even glancing his way.

He pulled the list from his pocket and began to tick off items:

"Sharp cheddar, dry salami, honey turkey-"

"One item at a time, please, sir." Her sudden gaze on him was sharp. Short dark hair, thick glasses. She looked vaguely familiar in the way that people tended to be who were a type. Her type was clearly disgruntled minimum wage slave.

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes. "I need sharp cheddar."

"How much, sir?" she droned.

"Uh, half a pound."

She nodded, turned her back to him, grabbed a giant block of cheese, and sliced off a piece in the large metal contraption before thrusting the unassuming food item towards him.

"This okay, _sir?" _she asked, voice tinged with disdain.

"Yeah, great, whatever. Just slice it already."

Her only response was to resume slicing.

"Excuse me." A little old lady came up next to him. In her floral dress, the woman looked like Red Riding Hood's fucking grandma. She also looked like one of his ex neighbors, who used to sic her vicious lap dog on him when he was 16 and newly on his own. "Excuse me!" she said louder, trying to catch the attendant's eye.

The attendant paused slicing to address her. "I'll be with you in a-"

"But _I'm_ number 42!" the woman insisted, gesturing to the large now serving display and waving her slip of paper around frantically. The attendant stopped slicing, noted her number, and glared at Soul, who shrugged.

"I was here and she wasn't," he said, his tone as bored as hers had been only moments before.

"_Sir,_" she said between gritted teeth. "I'm going to have to ask you to wait your turn." Setting the cheese aside, the deli attendant turned to the older woman to help her. Soul let out a frustrated growl and bared his teeth before wheeling his cart away and shoving in his earbuds.

Fine then. He'd get everything else first and come back.

Although, there was a time when he _wouldn't have._ A time when he would've come back to take what he wanted, bored attendants and slow assed old ladies be damned. A time when they still called him the Weapon, most feared villain in Death City. Thief, menace, force to be reckoned with.

There was a time when he was _somebody._

That time was past, and now? Now he was just Soul, unemployed ne'er-do-well, boyfriend to the bright, vivacious Maka Albarn. Just a guy trying to get by, trying to keep his woman fed, trying to get some fucking lunch meat without having to go through the ninth circle of hell.

Seething internally, he took in some deep breaths to cool his ire and reminded himself he was here for Maka. He fought the sudden urge to hit the fish counter because Maka hated fish, heading for the meat counter instead.

Maybe he'd make her filet-he had a recipe for beef Wellington he was dying to try, and Maka deserved it. Hell, she deserved far more, but a good dinner was the least he could give her, even if it meant facing this bullshit. She worked so hard, did so much. Maka actually _was_ somebody, always had been somebody.

Because there was also a time when Maka was the Meister, most exalted hero in Death City. Champion, savior, a force villains cowered before. She had been the Weapon's greatest nemesis, and the one who ultimately defeated that perpetual thorn in the side of truth and justice.

The Meister had disappeared when the Weapon did and, three years later, Maka Albarn had returned to the city to work for the exclusive magnet high school Death City Academy. She was an English teacher now, instructing the unwitting, ungrateful little assholes at DCA on the finer points of literature by day while defending those same little assholes from the monsters in the dark by night. For with Maka came the Grigori-a new hero to quell the rising tide of darkness and fear, a new force for truth and justice.

Wheeling his cart past the magazine racks on the way to the meat counter, Soul caught sight of the Death City Examiner headline and frowned.

_Grigori Does It Again!_

Of course. It was Maka, and Maka always made good. With the exploits of Meister and Weapon long forgotten, the Grigori was on the tip of every wagging tongue, the headline of every hot sheet. He rolled his eyes and sighed. Soul hated it.

He hated this dull, quiet life, hated watching the person he loved most in the world-the only person he had ever really loved-risk her life night after night while he sat at home and fretted. Soul hated feeling so utterly useless, hated, absolutely _hated, _that he had ever been the Weapon, because if he hadn't, he might be by her side, making sure she was safe. Truth, justice, these things he cared little for-but Maka? Maka was _everything_.

Maka was everything, had everything, _did_ everything-and Soul? Soul didn't even have a job. Apparently, a masters in music meant about shit in the working day world. That Maka was supporting him grated, but he was trying to make a living without resorting to taking it from others. He knew he might sell his soul, use his long abandoned heritage as an Evans to get a foot in the music industry, but he utterly refused to build his new life with Maka on a past he had rightfully left behind. It didn't make him feel like less of a loser, though.

At first, when Maka had been laying low too, when they'd been finishing school together, it had been fine, it had been _great._ Sure, it took him a few months to recover after he was defeated, but once he did, it was wonderful. The money Maka had saved (because apparently heroes got paid? What the hell?) along with some Soul had squirreled away supported them as they finished school. They spent their days in class, spent their nights studying and-erm-_connecting, _spent their weekends connecting even more _thoroughly_. It was everything Soul thought it could be when he'd tried to quit the whole villain gig, and he was almost _glad_ he'd gotten caught. No more lies, no more secrets. Yeah, she'd been mad, she'd been _furious_, she'd screamed at him when he was well enough and cried and given him the silent treatment for weeks, but _she still loved him_, and he'd made promises and he'd kept them, and she'd agreed to leave the past behind them, and their life had been, well, absolutely fucking perfect.

Until it wasn't. In what would have been their senior year at DCU, they transferred to a university in New York, then settled into two more years of grad school to put some distance between them and their pasts. It had all been going swimmingly, and Soul had never looked back to his old life, his old power. He'd thought she didn't, either, until three months ago. But now they were finally back in Death City. Now she was fighting the good fight again while the best he could manage was to be here, now, waiting his turn at the crowded meat counter.

He'd tried to adjust, god knew he'd tried. He would walk the streets as she went off to her day job, putting in applications, stopping in somewhere for coffee, swinging by her school to bring her a homemade lunch (and if he were very, v_ery_ lucky, they'd enjoy a quickie in her locked office). He did all the shopping, all the cooking, all the cleaning, refusing to let her help. He made sure her clothes were pressed and cleaned and laid out, made sure her every need was taken care of as she worked her day job and went off at night to quash people like he used to be. He rubbed her feet when she came home in in the middle of the night, tended her wounds when she got unlucky, all the while cringing at every bruise, scrape, and cut. Soul remembered before, what felt like an eternity ago, seeing those wounds and laughing at her for being a klutz. The first time she'd gotten hurt after they returned to Death City, he realized what her wounds had _really_ been all that time, realized that some of them, so long ago, had been from _him_, and almost cried. He hadn't, because cool guys didn't cry in front of their girlfriends, but it was a near thing.

His thoughts were wrenched back to the present as he was next in line. Soul pulled out his earbuds, the soothing voice of Etta James growing faint and tinny, and scowled at the empty place where the filet tag rested.

"Need a pound of beef tenderloin," he said gruffly.

The man behind the meat counter shook his head. "Sorry. Guy ahead of you bought the last 5 pounds."

Soul groaned. This was unreal. Just. Unreal. He had the urge to mug the guy blissfully walking off with his pound of flesh, but stifled it. He didn't do that shit anymore-even if the guy was an asshole who bought the last _five pounds _of filet. Even if he probably deserved it.

Unclenching his fist, he took in a few calming breaths.

"Fine, what _do_ you have?"

"Prime rib?" the attendant, a thin, nervous looking twenty something, asked hopefully.

"Yeah, whatever, fine, three pounds of that." Because now that it was roast prime rib on the menu, he'd need more meat. He supposed Maka would enjoy that just as much, even if he had to cook hers to shit to make her happy. Much as Soul loved her, the woman had questionable taste in food.

In men, too, so he couldn't really complain.

As the attendant handed him a roast wrapped in paper, Soul thanked him, replaced his earbuds, and resumed shopping. He went through his list, continuing to deal with aisles blocked by rude assholes, with dirty looks, with out of stock sale items and overpriced staples, continually reminding himself that this was for Maka, for Maka, _for Maka._

Gods would he love to rob this shithole, to decimate this complete waste of humanity.

After a time, his list completely crossed off but for the deli, he returned to that counter, noting the number was now flashing 57.

Oh goody, his turn had come.

"'Scuse me," he said to the same damned attendant who had blown him off earlier. She had just finished with 57 and was calling 58. "But I'm 56, so I'm-"

She slit her eyes at him from behind her thick glasses. "Sorry, _sir_, but you missed your turn. You'll need to take a new number."

"No," Soul said, seething, anger not quite contained beneath the boredom. "It's _my turn._ My number was called." What was this shit, now? That old biddy had come up late and now they wanted him to take another number-he side eyed the dispenser-number 64? Oh _hell _no.

"Again, I'm sorry, sir, but that's store policy. If you miss your number, you-"

"And the person who missed her number the last time I was here?" he ground out, one fist clenched tightly at his side as the other white knuckled his cart.

"She arrived when her number was being served, sir," the attendant said acidly. "Now if you'll excuse me, the faster you leave me to serve other customers, the faster your turn will come. Number 58!" she called for a second time, and a large man in hammer pants and a hoodie shoved to the front. Soul scowled from him to the attendant and back, baring his teeth.

"It's. My. _Turn_," he gritted out, beyond done with the bullshit. "You _will_ serve me. Now." The command, the controlled anger in his tone, it was something he hadn't used for a long time, not until recently. Not until he felt himself boiling over far too often to be at all healthy. Not until they'd come back here and he'd begun to feel trapped and helpless and afraid. Far too afraid. His fist was clenched so tightly now he thought the bones might shatter beneath his rage as the attendant gasped at him and took a step back.

"S-sir? Are-you…" she sputtered, her face going white, her eyes on his hand. On his _fully metallic hand._

Oh shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.

"Fuck it," Soul growled, willing his hand back to flesh and turning to storm off. He sped to the self check out, ran his groceries through, left the store. He'd bring Maka take out for lunch tomorrow, or send her leftovers. She preferred them to sandwiches anyway.

He needed to calm down, handle his shit. _For her._ For her, he had to keep it together. And he'd tried, oh how he'd tried. Was still trying. To find a job. To embrace this new leg of their life together. To accept that she was the one supporting them while also saving the fucking city. The longer it went on, the more hopeless he felt. She kept teaching by day to bring home the bacon, kept getting hurt at night fighting crime, and Soul could do nothing but wallow in self pity and continue to loathe the disgusting press of humanity she worked so hard to keep safe. If he'd ever been a drinker, he might have taken to the bottle. As it was, he threw his whole self into taking care of her. He still felt like a creep, a loser, the guy who would never deserve her. He still stayed up for her every night, terrified something would happen to her, terrified that he wouldn't be there to stop it.

He sighed his relief as he left the store, bags in hand, and stuffed the groceries into the saddlebags of his bike. The orange monstrosity was one of the few remnants of the old days; fitting, he thought as he mounted and shook out his too warm hand. This was his fault, his fuck up, always his fuck up. But watching, waiting, he couldn't take it anymore, not anymore. He couldn't take watching her, couldn't take worrying, needed to do something, _anything_. Three months into their return to Death City, he'd had enough.

Soul hadn't been taking his pills. He hadn't been taking his pills, and now, he'd transformed his hand in public. Fuck.

She had seen. That bitch attendant, she had _seen_. Fucking hell. Should he go to her, threaten her, _make sure she wouldn't talk?_ He took in several breaths, tried to calm himself as he sat in the busy parking lot straddling his bike. No. No, he wouldn't do that. He-that wasn't _him_ anymore. The woman wouldn't say anything, and even if she did, no one would believe her. Of course not. Soul had to keep it together, hold it in. So what if people were assholes. So what if his life was shit, if _he_ was shit. He couldn't let it get to him. He had to try, even if he was failing miserably.

Even if he still refused to take his pills.

It was bad, it was wrong, but he couldn't help it. It started out as an accident. He'd missed a dose one night when he was up fretting about her safety, one night when she wasn't there to remind him. One dose skipped by accident became more than one as he thought to himself, _what harm_? He wasn't going to _do _anything, but what if something happened to Maka? What if she _needed_ him and he was powerless to help her? Surely no one could blame him if it was dire and helped her, if he did nothing else, surely not.

Lying to Maka he hated-but standing by and watching something bad happen to her he would hate far, far worse.

It wasn't enough. Sure Soul could use his powers if he had to now, but he didn't want it to come to that, didn't want to break his promise, not to _her. _He needed another way to help her, because standing on the sidelines waiting for the worst was killing him. He was tired of feeling worthless, like a god damned weight around her neck. As he drove his groceries home, he wondered if he'd ever be able to get it together, to help her, to help himself. Somehow, he doubted it.

For awhile, a good two weeks after he'd almost lost his shit in the middle of a fucking grocery store, he simply fretted. And then he went to Spirit.

* * *

It had been a huge blow to his pride to go crawling to that asshole for help, but what was pride compared to Maka?

It wasn't like he'd ever had much of it to begin with.

He'd had to trick the old lech to set up the meeting, texting him from Maka's phone to suggest a lunch date. Dirty trick, but he'd never been above those either.

Ten minutes late to their meeting on purpose, Soul slid into the booth across from the tall red head who was eying the menu. At the sound, the man looked up, beaming.

"My angel has arr-ived?" Spirit faltered in his exuberant declaration as his eyes rose to spot Soul. "Oh," he said, voice flat. "It's you." He looked around frantically then frowned. "But where is my darling d-"

"Couldn't make it," Soul cut him off. "Actually," he admitted after a short pause as Spirit frowned at him. "She doesn't even know we're here, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

The other man's frown became a scowl as he snapped his menu shut. "So you stole my daughter's phone to lure me here. I wish I could say I'm surprised, but you are what you are. Well, what is it? And if you think you're going to ask me for my daughter's hand, think again-you'll never deserve her and we both know it."

Soul rolled his eyes. "Okay, one, neither of us fucking deserve her, and yet, here we both are. Two, if I were going to ask Maka to marry me, I wouldn't ask your loser ass for shit because she's not your fucking property. And three, that's not what I'm here for. I'm here because I-" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Asking fucking _Death Scythe_ for help? Oh how the mighty had fallen... He took a steadying breath.

"Spit it out, then," Spirit snapped.

"Fuck I-I need your help, okay?"

The man laughed, loudly, and it was Soul's turn to scowl. He was about to tell him to go fuck himself when a server, short, dark haired and curvy, approached.

"What can I get you?" she asked cheerfully, voice lightly accented.

"I'll have the kung pao chicken," Spirit said with a smile as his eyes swept her curves. "And the kid won't be staying long enough to eat, I'm afraid."

"Lettuce wraps and steamed dumplings," Soul corrected immediately. The waitress looked between them, confused, but nodded and walked off.

"Well, that was rude of you, Death Scythe. Losing your touch with the ladies?" Soul grinned lazily at him.

The man who had once been Death Scythe glanced around nervously for a moment, and noting there was no one seated near them, growled out. "Watch it, Weapon, I'm not the one with something to lose."

"We both have the same thing to lose," Soul responded evenly. "And I'm here to make sure that never happens. Maka is doing the hero shit again, and because the League has turned me into a useless civ, I can't do anything to help her."

"_Help her_?" Spirit scoffed, his laugh dry, harsh. "As I recall, the only thing you ever did when you _weren't_ a useless civ was try to kill her."

"I didn't know it was her," he gritted out, guilt and anger washing through him in sickening waves.

"Like that mattered. Like you would of done a damn thing differently had you-"

Soul slammed his fist on the table with a loud thump, eyes boring into the narrowed blue-green gaze of the man before him. "I would _never_ hurt Maka," he growled.

"And yet, you did. Many times over."

"Fuck you. Like your bullshit hasn't hurt her, doesn't keep hurting her. Yeah I fucked up, but _I didn't fucking know_, and now I just wanna make it right. But you? You just keep. Fucking. Up."

The older man went scarlet, looked about to pop a blood vessel or five for a moment before the color drained from him and he sighed, rubbing his temples with a look that was nothing short of defeated. "Look, kid, I may have to put up with you because for whatever unfathomable reason, my daughter loves you and actually thinks you're worth a shit, but it doesn't mean I have to _like_ you, and it certainly doesn't mean I have to _help_ you. So why don't you stop wasting both of our time and-"

"No," Soul interrupted, voice firm. Spirit looked surprised beneath the glare. "You're right, your daughter shouldn't love an asshole like me. I've fucked up. A lot. But all I want, _all I want,_ is to keep her safe. I don't deserve someone so good, you're right about that, too, and I'll be damned if I'm willing to lose her. But I made a promise-to you League assholes, yeah, but more importantly to Maka. I take those fucking pills to kill my powers, kill any chance to help her. But I know you _know_ people, Death Scythe. I know you can get me Tech. And for however much you hate my guts or whatever, you have to know I'd do anything to keep her safe. And I also know you'd do the same. So fucking do it. _Help me help her_. Please."

Fuck, he hated how desperate he sounded, how weak, but he needed this, needed to do something, to help her, and like it or not, Spirit was his lifeline, his way.

Spirit just stared at him for a long moment, unblinking, and Soul stared back. The server set down their food amidst the silence, and, uncomfortable, Soul immediately shoved a dumpling into his mouth to keep from saying anything stupid. He'd already said his piece.

Maka's dad took a deep breath, exhaled, then nodded. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll take you to Stein."

"Really?" Soul's jaw flopped open in disbelief, his half chewed dumpling nearly falling out of his mouth.

"Hm," Spirit grunted with a half nod, stuffing a fork into his own food. "But only because if I don't, you might do something stupid, and it'll be my ass on the line. And hers."

"And you think Stein can help?"

The other man nodded as he took a bite of chicken. "If he can't, then no one can."

Soul couldn't help it; he actually smiled. "Perfect." And because his gratitude was raw and strong, "Thank you. Really."

"It's not for you, kid," the older man said gruffly. "And if you fuck this up, I'll hunt you down myself." The glare was back, but then his face softened for an instant-only an instant. "Just. Keep her safe, would you?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I will."

* * *

The next day, Spirit had taken him to see Stein.

_Stein_.

Weeks later, just thinking of that bastard made him shudder, but who else would have the means to let him help Maka without her knowledge? After all, it was Stein who had invented the power suppressing pills; he was an expert on people with special abilities, had even come up with Tech to work with their powers, like Death Scythe's flight boots and the Witchhunter's energy beam. He was a bloody genius, even if he was more mad than scientist, and, more importantly, Soul had figured that Spirit was right; Stein _was_ the only one who could help him.

Of course, there had been a price. There was always a fucking price, though no price was too high for Maka. He'd do anything for her.

Yes, asking Spirit, approaching Stein, that been the easy part. He'd gone to the semi-secret lab, the one that operated under the guise of a genetics facility, in a suit. _In a fucking suit._ He'd been nervous and sweating as Spirit led him in, afraid Stein would figure out he'd broken his deal and stopped taking the meds, afraid he'd say no, afraid he'd do worse.

Soul needn't have feared the first two.

Stein had said yes easily enough. He had Tech, but it was in the developmental stages. He needed a guinea pig and Soul was the perfect candidate; the doctor wanted his blood, his secrecy, and his data. He expected Soul to be the test subject for the Tech he was "borrowing," which would mean-well, he hadn't known at the time and would rather not recall at the present.

He was also pretty sure Stein knew he was off the meds and was taking sadistic glee in dangling the fact subtly. Fucking bastard. Still, it was worth it if he could help Maka. Worth daily blood draws. Worth the dozens of scans. Worth the surgery to implant the chip that would coordinate the Tech, that would siphon his raw energy to power it. Worth the pain, worth the endless testing, the headaches, the sleepless nights. Worth every last bit of it.

The day they finally called him to let him know it was ready was a day of sheer elation. A month of blood draws, tests, trials-a month of hell-and it was finally, finally ready.

Soul showed up at the lab in ripped jeans and a ratty old band t-shirt-who was he trying to impress? He showed up, strolling in like he owned the place, and was greeted by Stein's two assistants, Ox and Harvar.

Ox looked him up and down with a sigh.

"What?" Soul snapped. He'd grown used to the two men with the strange affinity for electricity, but that didn't mean the bald freak didn't annoy him. He didn't _care_ if Ox Ford was the technical talent, if the inventions were as much his as they were Stein's; the guy was a haughty asshole most of the time and Soul was damned sick of it.

At least soon he'd be done dealing with the prick for the foreseeable future.

The man cleared his throat.

"Just-hard to believe that _you_ were the Weapon."

"Stein told you." It wasn't a question. He felt anger rise and tamped it down. His temper was so quick nowadays; this stagnant life, his unused energy, it left him like a tinderbox ready to ignite.

Ox shrugged, noncommittal, but then the other man, Harvar, coughed lightly, his eyes unreadable behind dark glasses. "We were here when the Meister brought you in, though you wouldn't remember."

Oh. Right. Well then.

Soul let the subject drop uncomfortably. "So, it's ready?" he asked instead, trying to keep the eagerness out of his tone, desperately trying to maintain his customary apathy in the face of being so near his goal.

"No, we called you on a Saturday because we wanted to share high tea," Harvar said, voice so dry that he could practically see the eyeroll behind his dark glasses. Soul didn't dignify the snark with a response, just offered a half shrug, and Ox let out a long suffering sigh.

"Yes, it's ready-follow me."

With that, both men turned on their heels to lead him through the maze that was Death Corp Genetics.

Soul hated the place, he really did, yet it had saved his life, and it was gifting him with a way to help Maka, so he would learn to tolerate it, even if remembering all the cuts and needles and prods and… well, even if he'd rather not remember most of his time here.

They turned several corners, though not quite going in circles, and stopped at a large steel door Soul didn't recognize. Ox paused for the retinal scan and gave a voice code before the door slid open with a click and a soft whoosh of air. Lights flared to life with the movement, garish industrial fixtures that cast a harsh glow on the objects that gleamed from the table in the center of the room. As he focused on that gleam, among the first things Soul noticed were silver bracers and what looked to be leg cuffs, sleek and bright. He approached cautiously, looking to Harvar, who just nodded. Carefully, reverently, he reached out a hand to brush a finger against the cold metal and was surprised when it warmed at his touch. He could almost feel the energy within as he lifted the bracer. It was feather light.

"This is...?" he questioned, eyes never leaving the object in his hand.

"You can't feel it?" Ox asked, incredulous.

But he could. The warmth, the hum of power. It was something like the prototypes they'd forced him to work with again and again and again, yet those had been clunky, junky hunks of wire and metal, a suit of patchwork armor. These were light, sleek, almost elegant.

"I feel it," Soul said softly, his eyes moving from the bracer he held to the rest of the things on the table. "How do I-"

"You'll need to get the suit on first," Ox cut him off, tone brisk. Soul turned his head to look at him in question.

"Suit?" And that's when he noticed that the bracers were resting on red spandex. He moved the bracers aside to pick it up. It was light and strong and he was sure it would be skin tight. "Oh hell no!" he scoffed. "What the fuck is this?"

"Part of your Tech," Harvar put in.

"Fuck it, I'll just take the bracers," Soul grumbled, because no way was he wearing skin tight spandex.

"You could," Harvar began, amusement clear in his tone. "Buuuuuut..." He looked to Ox.

"They won't work without the suit. It's a package deal," Ox finished. "Use it all or use none, Weapon, your call."

"Also," Harvar said, his voice far too even. "There's this." He held out a black and red lightmode helmet he'd produced from who knew where, cut down the middle with a zig zag pattern. It looked a hell of a lot like a motorcycle helmet, and would encase his whole head.

"And that's necessary too?" Soul raised an eyebrow.

"Noooooo," Ox said, his voice even more condescending than usual. "But it will give you a Tech feed, help with control, and hide those pretty white locks of yours from your girl. Unless you don't care if she realizes-"

"Yeah, okay, I get it. Anything else?"

"It'll protect you from getting your brains knocked out in a fight," Harvar suggested flatly.

Soul sighed. The things he did for love.


	2. Renaissance Man

That night, Soul tested the new suit. He'd had to resort to using an old hideout because he certainly couldn't try it on in the apartment, but it had been worth breaking into the decrepit warehouse for some privacy. The red material, while not _actually_ spandex, was some sort of cloth-metal wonder fabric that was _tight _and left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

He decided to wear some jeans and a t-shirt over it for his own sanity, along with an old leather jacket-it was all stuff he'd squirreled away here before everything fell to shit. Wearing his old clothes made him feel strange, wrong even, because these things belonged to _the Weapon_, the old Soul, his old life, yet that was still better than strutting around in a tight red catsuit. The bracers managed to fit under the fabric of his clothes, though barely. He slipped the helmet on and grimaced. It was close fitting and he felt almost claustrophobic, yet he had to hide his face if he was going to help Maka.

Plus this helmet had _Tech. _However annoying they might be, Ox and Harvar were electronic geniuses, and they'd built an Artificial Intelligence engine into the helmet that integrated GPS, police scanners, and the internet, that could call up maps, profiles, current location, whatever he needed. As he watched the information overlay flare to life atop his view of the world outside the helmet, he had to admit it was bloody brilliant.

Now to see if it actually worked. The clunky test suit Soul had used in the lab had only worked sporadically, not always in synch with the control chip they'd implanted under the skin at the base of his skull (coming up with an excuse for _that _little injury had been quite the feat) but he'd been assured the final prototype would work seamlessly, that Stein had tweaked it all to read his brainwaves and his genetic signature. Soul would have asked Stein if he was certain it was ready, but he'd been waved off by Ox, told he was on a business trip.

Well, hell.

Hopefully the thing wouldn't blow up the moment he tried to use it.

Raising an arm, Soul focused on a battered, empty crate in the corner. Dark energy shot from his hand, lifting the crate with ease. He almost whooped with joy. It _worked!_

Time to see if the rest did.

He strode through the building, nearly giddy, and opened the door, bending his knees before willing himself up. Dark energy surrounded him and he began to lift off the ground, slowly at first, then faster. He was flying. _He was fucking flying. _It was glorious. And _this_ was what Maka did every night, soar through the skies? No wonder she found it so addicting. Well, he supposed, she deserved such a thrill, such freedom. If anyone deserved it, it was _her._ But, undeserving as _he_ was, he would use this to keep her safe.

Didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it. Sweeping up and over the city, he used the simple thought commands that Ox had briefly relayed to him to control the helmet. A map appeared in the corner, and on it was a small green dot that represented the Grigori, who was apparently speaking with police about a fire she'd just helped handle. Well, she didn't need him yet, and he really had to figure out if this would all work as seamlessly together as he'd been promised. Then the voice of the AI, sounding irritatingly like Ox, droned out that there was a robbery in progress at the First Central Bank.

Well, not a _bad_ test for his new clothes. Soul had certainly robbed the place enough in his time as a villain to figure he owed a bit of penance-it had actually been the site of his first bank job, so for it to be the site of his first act of pseudo heroism seemed somehow fitting.

Plus, it was close.

When he landed a minute later, he could hear sirens in the distance, but the front of the building was empty, innocuous even. Then the doors were flung open, two figures in ski-masks and dark clothing bursting forth and running towards him, guns raised, and he knew he had to act _fast. _They screeched to a halt a bare few feet from him.

"What the hell? Out of the way, simpleton," the taller, broader figure growled at Soul, who was currently blocking the path to their getaway car. When the second figure, shorter and slighter, raised his gun, Soul figured it was time. Raising a hand, he willed the dark antigravity field towards them, watching as it enveloped both of the would be robbers, and lifted them off the ground, helpless. As he heard their guns clatter to the sidewalk, he grinned behind his helmet. So it worked. Fantastic.

"Shit, oh _shit_!" The slighter figure squirmed. "Noah, help!"

"Like I can, moron, and _don't use my name_," the larger figure spat out, twisting his head towards Soul. "Who the fuck are _you_, anyway?"

Soul shrugged languidly. "Just a guy testing his Tech. But robbing banks is a nasty business, take it from someone who knows."

"Buzz off, peon. You'll regret interfering with my collection."

Wow, this guy was awfully ballsy considering he was now completely at Soul's mercy. Soul heard a squeal of tires behind him, the getaway car clearly getting away without them, but ignored it, focusing instead on his prey. It felt so strange, to be the one stopping the bad guys, and the pang of empathy for his quarry was real.

"Shyeah, sure," Soul scoffed. "Look-I'll tell you what-I'm an understanding guy. Leave the shit you took and I'll let you guys scurry off before the cops get here."

"Mmmm... I think not," the man said, far too smugly. "Gopher, if you would."

The smaller man didn't answer, but he did hold out a hand, and black light sprang out at Soul. He had to break his concentration to avoid the blast, causing the two men he'd held in his beam to plummet dangerously. When the slighter figure sprouted wings of black light, familiar yet strange, Soul knew it was trouble. The man swooped down to grab his accomplice and they both lowered to the ground, avoiding the potentially treacherous fall. Meanwhile, Soul himself shot up and out of reach, using a mass of antigravity to bring their guns to him because the little one was a fucking _Special_ and that couldn't be good.

In an eyeblink, the smaller thief came hurtling towards him. Narrowly avoiding him by swooping up, Soul groaned internally at the near miss. He was out of practice and it showed.

"This is _so _not worth it," he muttered under his breath as a stream of black light shot his way. Soul dodged it handily before willing the antigravity beam towards his enemy again, trapping him helplessly like a fly caught under glass. He anticipated the counter-blast, avoiding it deftly, then flew up higher, holding the little asshole in his antigravity field and barely resisting the urge to slam him into the pavement and be done with it. Instead, he flicked his eyes over to the other asshole who was halfway down the street. Soul flew off after him, dragging the winged bastard with him and narrowly avoiding another energy blast.

Yep, definitely not fucking worth it. Getting in range, he caught the first guy in a second antigrav field just as police cars came screaming onto the scene. About fucking time.

As Soul dodged yet another energy blast, he ground out at the culprit, "Do that again, and I slam you both back to ground and pound you to fucking dust, got it?"

Fuck, he missed his real powers where he could just pummel the idiots with his fists.

The man said nothing, but he put up his hands in defeat and nodded sullenly, so Soul figured that was a yes. Time to finish this and get the fuck out of Loserville.

Looking down, he noticed the police were clustered below, watching the spectacle taking place above them with guns trained on him and the two he held. Unsurprisingly, one cop raised a bullhorn, issuing the command-"Specials! Descend and put your hands up or we _will_ be forced to fire!"

Soul sighed and looked at the smaller man, whose wings had disappeared. "I'm putting you down and you're gonna let them cuff you without using your little parlor trick or I make good on my earlier promise, catch me?"

"Whatever. I'll just kill you when I get out," he sniveled, and Soul laughed as he lowered the smaller man and his accomplice, who hadn't spoken a word for several minutes, but who was instead eying Soul speculatively.

"Perhaps you will be joining my collection soon," the other thief finally said softly, though he seemed to be speaking more to himself than anything else.

Soul laughed again and shook his head, his response meant for both of them. "Yeah, good luck with that." He waited just long enough to see the smaller man cuffed, then as the bullhorn wielder called out for his own surrender once more, he took off, shooting up through the sky and out of sight and feeling like he could conquer the damned world. So maybe it had been worth it, just a little. Maybe he could even understand what Maka got out of this, the insane buzz, the adrenaline rush, the sense of accomplishment untainted by guilt.

High on his triumph, Soul didn't allow himself to contemplate how that might have been him in cuffs a mere three years ago. The newly minted hero stashed his new toys in a well hidden portion of the same abandoned warehouse where he'd begun his night, settling on that as a rather decent hero's hideout, and made his way home. He couldn't risk Maka getting in before him, after all.

He beat her home by a scant half hour. She was early tonight, and he was still drunk on victory. His body was spent, the Tech drawing from his reserves, but he felt elated. It worked, he'd used it and it _worked_ and now, now he could use it to help _her_.

When Maka entered their bedroom, she stripped down with an exaggerated yawn, her body practicality glowing in the moonlight just spilling into the room through the gap in the curtains. Catching sight of her, Soul's elation swelled into a wave of desire, and inspite of his exhaustion, he propped himself on one elbow with a quiet "Hey."

"Hey," she said softly as she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're still up."

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

"Mmm," she hummed, sliding over in the bed and under the covers to snuggle against him. He was naked beneath the blankets; he generally slept that way, and he was already aroused. "Maybe I could help tire you out?" Her voice was soft, playful, as she raised herself to look down at him and ran one along down the burn scar on his chest, the scar she herself had created, branding him for life.

He'd wear her mark proudly if it meant she was his.

"Maybe." He was grinning up at her, but then, with a rustle of sheets and a muffled giggle as he flipped them, he grinned down at her wickedly. Even both exhausted, there was always energy for this.

True to her word, she definitely helped tire him out.

* * *

After that, the nights went much the same, with one change-now that he knew the Tech _worked, _he focused his energy on helping Maka. The first time he crossed her path was nearly a disaster, but that only made it that much more of a triumph.

The Grigori was fighting a man who had robbed Deathworks Labs-he was huge, with a barrel chest and arms as big around as Soul's thighs. He'd gotten her locale from the AI fifteen minutes before, and for several minutes straight he sat and watched, hovering overhead and wondering if this was what his fights with the Meister had looked like from afar. He suspected it might be.

She was definitely holding her own, landing hit after hit before flitting away, virtually untouched-she could fly, and this guy clearly couldn't, and it was an advantage.

Watching her was nothing short of breathtaking. No wonder she'd beaten him so often.

Still, even as she landed hit after hit, the guy never tired, never wavered, and Soul knew something was wrong. When Maka began to tire herself, she swooped back up just a bit too slowly after landing a weak strike, and the massive meatbag she was fighting managed to catch her by the ankle.

Soul panicked. She couldn't be hurt; h_e wouldn't let her get fucking hurt_. He came racing down to slam bodily into the robber's massive chest, cursing as he bounced off harmlessly and had to struggle to his feet. What was this guy made of, steel?

"Cheap trick, Grigori, gettin' your pal to blindside me. Too bad for you it didn't work. You can't blindside an immortal. I was gonna go easy on you, but thanks to your punkass friend, I changed my mind." And with that, he swung Maka around hard by the ankle, her struggles futile within his too strong grasp, before throwing her bodily towards the side of a building.

Soul managed to put himself between her and the concrete, but barely, and she landed against him with a thud as he hit the wall. The wind was knocked out of him, but he didn't have time to gather his wits because Maka was up again. And she was pissed.

"Stay out of my way!" she screamed at him before charging after meathead again, who had already run.

"Love you too," he muttered under his breath as he stood up, wobbly, ready to follow. He was just glad the Tech was doing its job-one benefit of the suit was something Stein called "soul protect"; it blocked Maka's powers from sensing his soul, just like the metal of his Weapon form had done when he could actually use his powers (she would have recognized him quickly had it not been for that feature).

Fortunately for him, he didn't have far to go, because Maka was back, fists and teeth both clenched tight as she glared at him. "He got away! He got away because of _you_."

"Of course you're welcome for saving your ass. Later, Angelface." Soul didn't stick around, but took off fast and high, relieved that she didn't follow.

Well, that wasn't ideal-but in the end he had saved her, _hadn't he?_

That night, when Maka got home just after him, she was pissed. She came in heavily, peeled off her clothes, and slid under the covers with a small sigh.

"Somethin' wrong?" he said with a yawn that he didn't have to feign.

She let out a little huff. "No-well-yeah. Some idiot got in my way tonight, and the guy I was chasing escaped," she grumbled as she snuggled into Soul's chest, her naked warmth both calming and distracting against him.

"Oh yeah? Wha' happened?" he murmured sleepily into her hair.

"Welllll I was pulling a feint," she said, moving her head back to look up at him, and he had to work hard not to cringe because _he hadn't known it was a feint_, "and just when I was about to strike, this-this-_moron_ comes charging at the perp out of nowhere! The idiot doesn't _do_ anything to him because this guy's like a tank, but he sure as hell pisses him off. So the perp ends up hurling me pretty hard, and when I went after him again, he'd already gotten away."

Maka sighed heavily.

"You weren't hurt?" Soul knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure.

"Nooo," she assured him. "The same idiot got between me and the wall. He probably got it worse than I did."

He shrugged slightly. "Guess I owe the idiot my thanks."

She half scoffed, half laughed. "Or your wrath for getting me thrown to begin with. But I guess it _was_ heroic, anyway. Stupid, but heroic."

Soul had to suppress a smile. Stupid but heroic he could live with.

"Anyway, if _you _wanna be my hero, you can rub my back-it's killing me."

"Course," he said, sliding his hands down her body. "Flip over, would ya?"

She complied easily, and he was happy to massage her anywhere-everywhere-even if he was exhausted. Even if his own back was killing him from his impact with the wall. And even through all the discomfort, back rubs led to other rubs, and he would never be sorry for _that, _no matter how desperately he needed the sleep.

* * *

For a week after, then two, things were much the same. Soul would spend his nights prodding the AI for word of her. Some nights, he got none, and his time was occupied playing video games on his phone. He would only make an appearance if there was a confirmed sighting of the Grigori, and even then, on most nights, he just watched -his Maka was strong, capable, a complete badass, and mostly she didn't need him. But then some nights, even when she had it under control, he couldn't help but to intervene anyway, because their banter set his blood boiling, her righteous indignation at his very presence, and his secret knowledge that he was the one she would return to later that night. And then, on very rare nights, Soul was able to swoop in and prevent her from getting hurt, and he did it happily, thrilling at the idea that he was finally doing something that was worth a shit, throwing his hormones into overdrive. He'd always had a healthy sex drive when it came to her, but now he was insatiable, drunk on watching her work, on _helping_ her work, drunk on their banter and on her skin. It was exhilarating.

The fact that she came home utterly frustrated, utterly furious at the mystery hero made it even better. Those were the nights when she would make love to him most forcefully; Soul was thoroughly aroused by the duality, by the fact that she was utterly _his_ even if he didn't deserve her to be, his blood on fire at the thought that she used the one who provoked her, that she unwittingly took out the frustrations he caused on the one who caused them. He loved being both her reason and her cure, the one who made her utterly wanton.

He knew there was something desperately wrong with that, but he was far too exhausted to look into it deeply, to search his own blighted soul and try to see bottom. He was lucky he wasn't working, lucky that as Maka went off to her teaching job, he could crash for the day and recuperate his reserves. He became a much less attentive partner. They ate more takeout, he barely kept the house straightened, her lunches more and more consisted of frozen meals.

When she periodically asked him if he was alright, Soul waved off her concern, citing insomnia and stress over the job hunt. The new white lies on top of his guilt over he larger deception gnawed at his insides, but he shoved it down because this was _necessary_, damnit; protecting her was all that mattered. A part of him also felt a pang of guilt because he _liked_ taking care of her, but most of him was willing to sacrifice making her comfortable for keeping her safe. Plus, watching her work was glorious, now that he wasn't on the receiving end of her wrath. Soul loved it. He wouldn't give it up for the world. And if he still felt like a loser when he finally peeled his ass out of bed at noon every day and walked a block for his "morning" coffee-well, at least he was a loser who would keep his girlfriend safe.

It was during one such early afternoon coffee run that he got the call. He was sitting in the shitty Starbucks down the block from their apartment, too tired to walk the extra block to the better independant shop. He'd been trying to tune out the inane chatter of a small gaggle of college girls who were, unfortunately, smiling and giggling his way. Blasting some Miles Davis through his headphones, he hoped that it would drown out their irritatingly high pitched squeals. It only helped a little. With the music in his ears and the activity all around him, Soul almost missed his phone vibrating on the table in front of him. He eventually caught it and, as he saw his girlfriend's flash as the caller, he grabbed his phone and his coffee and sprinted outside. Maka almost never did more than text him sporadically during the school day; a phone call meant something was either very wrong or very right, and his gut twisted in nervous anticipation over which.

_Hi!_ he heard her bright voice say through the speaker as he pulled out his earbuds and answered the call.

"Hey," he returned casually. "Day goin' alright?"

_Fantastic, actually. My kids all did a good job on their poetry projects, and a few of them are submitting to the state writing contest, but that's not really the best part. _She sounded excited, and Soul felt his palms go sweaty with anticipation because something was clearly up, and he had no idea _what._

"Mmmm," he hummed. "I'm glad it's been good. Sorry I forgot your sandwich again-hope the leftover takeout was okay."

_Oh, it's fine, Soul. Really, I don't mind at all. So-about my news. Guess who has an interview tomorrow at DCA?_

"Uhhh…" he drew out, brow furrowed, because _what could that shit possibly have to do with him_?

_Well, let me give you a few hints. He's good looking, talented, devastatingly good in bed, an amazing pianist, has white hair, red eyes, and wickedly sharp teeth he likes to use to-_

"Shit," he breathed. As she'd gone down the list, he felt a little sick because who was this guy she thought was so great? Then she got further and further down and he felt a _lot_ sick because he knew exactly who the guy was, and he wasn't half of those things. Well, maybe half. Red eyes, white hair, sharp teeth-and devastatingly good in bed he could claim. "Shit," he repeated more loudly. "But I-I didn't apply at DCA," he finally managed, numb, feeling completely idiotic. Him-_a teacher_? How could _he _be a teacher?

_Well, I maaaaay have taken the liberty of completing an application portfolio for you, and I maaaaay have highly recommended you to the Headmaster_. Her voice was on odd mix of proud and sheepish. _But Soul, this'll be so great for you, don't you think?_

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure, of course," he stammered out, numb. A teacher, a teacher, _a teacher_. It felt surreal.

_So, the interview is tomorrow at one. Your good suit should still be in the back of the closet, and he wants you to have a piece prepared to play, plus he'd like to see a sample lesson, so you'll need to work on that today. Remember when you came into my class and talked about opera? I was thinking maybe you could use that. Since you've done it before-and you were brilliant by the way-you shouldn't have too much trouble with it. I know it's a surprise, I hate springing it on you, but you've been so _hard _on yourself, and I just wanted to do something, and I figured there'd be more time before they scheduled an interview, but they're really, _really _interested in you, Soul, and I know you'll be perfect. Anyway-I'll see you after school. I'll bring home Chinese and we can practice interviewing, but I gotta go now-love you!_

"Love you too, Maka," he said just before the click. Sighing, he gave up returning inside the Starbucks-it was annoying in there anyway-and shuffled home, the odd mix of feeling nervous, pathetic, and the tiniest bit hopeful settling in as he went.

The next day, after a frantic night in which Maka stayed in for once to help him prepare before helping to relax him with giddy heat, after an interview where three people grilled him for an hour, after playing Mozart and teaching Handel and sweating like a stuck pig, Soul was told he had the job and could start Monday. He thought he should probably be happy that after so long being an out of work loser he finally had a gig, but all he really felt was sick.

He wasn't cut out for this teaching crap. Then again, he wasn't cut out for the boyfriend crap, wasn't cut out for the hero crap, wasn't cut out for the just living crap, and he'd been managing. He'd manage this, too, because it was for Maka, and he was willing to manage a fuck of a lot worse for her when it came right down to it.

He might be a piece of shit at heart, but for her, he would be a Renaissance Man.


	3. Into the Fire

It had been quite the day. Between the interview, getting hired, and a full five hour conference with the Headmaster, a real blowhard who felt the need to regale him with disjointed stories of his youth, Soul's normal sleep time had been stolen away and he was exhausted. If he was this tired after one damned day without sleeping in, how the hell was he going to deal with his new job full time?

He'd figure it out. _He had to_. Who _else_ would make sure Maka was safe?

Soul would do this music teacher bullshit, stop being a drain on her, start contributing like the fucking adult he was supposed to be. He would do that and he would keep her safe at night and then, maybe then, he'd actually be good enough to lick her damned shoe. Then, maybe, just maybe, he'd have the guts to finally give her that ring. He was never going to be good enough for her-he knew that-but if he could do this, at least he'd know he was doing his all, that he was, if not good enough, at least not a complete waste of oxygen.

He checked the scanner on his helmet, looking for her as he did every night. The Grigori had been reported in the vicinity of Necro and Vine in pursuit of a suspected assassin. The perp had made a near attempt on the mayor's son, Kyle Mortimer, who also happened to be an ADA, a rising star amidst the DC infrastructure.

Soul didn't know much about Kyle Mortimer other than his nickname, Death the Kid, and that he was a college acquaintance of Maka's, one he had met in passing a small handful of times. Frankly, he didn't much care. What he _did_ know was that anywhere Maka was fighting someone who was trying to kill her was exactly where he wanted to be.

He flew towards the spot, unfortunately on the other side of town, and as he reached it and found no one, he tapped into the AI to provide him with an update.

Well, shit.

The assassin had found his way to the mall, probably thinking the Grigori wouldn't risk a fight there. If he thought _that_, he was dead wrong. Maka would worry too much that the assassin would harm a civilian not to pursue.

Yeah, he could definitely help.

He flew to the mall, a bare two blocks away, and marveled at the line of people streaming out. Well, going through _that_ mess wasn't a real option. Time to find another way. Spying a skylight, Soul decided to make his own entrance-it could be replaced, but Maka couldn't.

Crashing through unceremoniously, he landed on the terrace overlooking the three story complex and looked around. He could hear the sounds of panicked retreat and intense fighting, but the space he looked down on, a large courtyard with a fountain at the center, was eeriy devoid of life, more than an anomaly at seven in the evening so close to the holidays.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't.

A blue and black streak zipped past him in a blur, whisper quiet and wickedly fast. Soul whipped his head around and watched the mysterious figure hurl himself from the third story balcony into the courtyard.

Unfortunately for him, Maka landed in his path just as he did and put her hands on her hips.

"Blake, stop!" she screamed. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just. _Stop, _okay?"

"It's Black Star!" he bellowed. "And how do you-"

She cut him off, her voice dropping. "Black Star, then. I just want to talk. Just-"

"Like I'm supposed to believe you, Grigori, after I tried to slice the mayor's son in half! Look, outta my way. I don't wanna have ta-"

"Black Star..." Her voice was so soft that without the helmet enhancing his hearing, Soul never would have caught it. "You don't have to believe the Grigori. But you _should _believe me." She reached up slowly and removed her mask, causing the man in front of her to gasp and Soul to wonder just _what the hell was going on?_

"Ma-Maka? _You're _the Grigori? But-I thought-"

"Whatever you thought, it was wrong. And what you're _doing _is wrong. Since when do you kill for money? Since when do you harm innocents-Kid's a good person. _Why_ Blake? Why are you after him?"

The assassin stood staring at her in the empty space for a few moments and Soul had seen enough. He didn't know _who the fuck_ this Black Star creep was, and part of him feared to know, heart clenching at the idea that Maka had unmasked for this man, laid herself bare; his instinct to protect her, even from herself, took over as he willed himself down to land a few feet behind the other man. Maka gasped as she saw and reaffixed her mask quickly.

"What the fuck?" The assassin whirled around. "Who is this asshole? You pick up some lame assed sidekick now?"

"Blake." She ignored Soul's presence and the question both. "I'm waiting for you to explain." Her tone was dangerous.

"IT'S BLACK STAR!" he screamed. "And another thing! Gods don't _have _to explain, so butt the fuck out, Maka!" He'd stepped forward and they were practically nose to nose. As his finger poked at her chest, Soul growled, ready to spring, but Maka was deadly calm.

"Black Star," she tried again. "Now. Right now."

Soul's entire body tensed, about to charge, but to his shock, the man in front of him sat down in a huff and shook his head. He looked utterly defeated.

"They got Tsubaki," he said, all bravado gone. He sounded almost-broken.

Maka's face became dark, cloudy. She leaned down and put a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, before looking up at Soul, eyes narrowed. "And _who the hell are you_?" she said, voice dangerous again. "You've been on my ass for _two weeks_, swooping in and getting in my damned way before taking off and leaving me to clean up the mess, yet you've never so much as offered a _name_."

It took him a moment to realize that she was talking to him, that she thought he was a nuisance, that she didn't _know him._

It was on purpose

It still fucking hurt.

"I'm-" shit shit _shit _he hadn't thought about a name, hadn't stuck around long enough for her to ask before now "-uh-" he spotted a sign at Soma Intimates declaring SHE'S A MAN EATER "-uh-Eater."

"_Eater?_" Her lips twisted just beneath her mask in her skepticism and he knew why, because _what the fuck kind of name was that_, but it was too late. Fix it, Soul, fix it!

"Uh, yeah, Soul Eater. Because I-uh-devour all the villains in my path." Oh god _Soul Eater? _Could he get any more lame? And he'd used _his name_ in it. He was _such_ an idiot! She was going to figure it out. She was going to figure it out, and then-fuck, this was bad.

"Alright Soul-Eater." He could tell she was trying not to laugh, trying to keep both voice and face stern. Finally, she seemed actually stern as she continued. "I know you've been stalking me. What business do you have here?"

"Yeah, dude." The assassin stood up and cracked his neck, eyes narrowed. "This here's an 'A' and 'B' conversation, so why dontcha 'C' your way out of it already."

This time, Maka snorted, her anger temporarily dissipating. The vaunted Grigori. Snorted. Soul couldn't help but to laugh himself.

"Man-maaaaan," Soul choked out as he stifled the guffaw in his throat. "You are _such_ a spaz. You really-really-" The guy was ridiculous. How could she have a _history_ with this idiot? Soul shook his head, tried to regain his calm because this guy was still an assassin and Maka knowing him or not didn't matter-he was a criminal.

The thought felt strange, heavy, almost as heavy as the feeling welling deep in the pit of his stomach at seeing the two of them standing together, standing against _him_.

He-was the good guy here now, _wasn't he?_

"You still haven't answered my question," Maka said as she calmed, her gaze even as she leveled it on him once more. He knew she was trying to read her his soul and was glad it would prove impossible. She frowned, puzzled, but said nothing, simply waiting.

Black Star glared his way as well, but for once, was silent.

"Not stalking you." Soul's voice was gruff in his throat, but not in his ears, and he had to praise the Lightning Nerds again for the voice alteration feature of the helmet as he sounded far more calm and smooth than he felt. "You just happen to be there when I answer a call. For all I know, you're stalking _me, sweetheart_." The last word was dripping with condescending swagger. It felt both strange and familiar, like returning to an old haunt he thought he'd left behind, "And I'm here for him." He flipped a hand in the assassin's direction and shrugged, a lazy half lift of one shoulder. "He _did _try to kill the mayor's son."

"And you think you can just swoop in and exact your vigilante justice?" Maka asked, indignant.

"I think I can swoop in and drop him off in jail-isn't that what you should be doing, _Grigori?_" It was so strange, to speak to her this way. It almost felt like the barbs they used to exchange _before_, and much as it had annoyed him _then_, sharing them _now _was the slightest bit exhilarating.

Her eyes narrowed to mere slits. "I have the backing of the League of Heroes. I'm not just some-some-wanna-be off the street!"

"And yet, with all your fancy pedigree, you wanna let this guy walk, right? Yeah, I heard your little chat. You two make a cute couple." The last bit felt bitter and wrong on his tongue, but he hated the way she had inched forward to put herself in front of the blue haired creep as if to shield him, hated that she was protecting him.

Who was he to her and why had Soul never heard of him? She didn't-she couldn't- He cut off his own thought, the sting of it, the pain, too much. Not _his Maka_. Of course not. He had more faith in her than that. Hadn't she proven her own faith that night when the Weapon had died in her arms to be reborn as simply Soul?

She was staring at him, angry, at a loss. Finally, she spoke, the anger draining out of her into something like resignation. "Look, _Eater_," she said, the words thick with distaste, "if you heard, then you heard that he's being blackmailed. They have his friend, and they'll hurt her if he doesn't do as they ask."

Soul shrugged. "So hand him over to the police and let them sort it out. Not our problem." He knew it was the old Soul talking, the one who had been the Weapon, the one who was utterly selfish, but he didn't want Maka to get tangled into whatever this was, to get hurt.

"And you'd be okay with an innocent woman dying because of that action?" Her voice was soft, but with an edge of menace.

He sighed. Went to run his hand through his hair and remembered at the last second he couldn't, bringing it down again. "I guess not," he admitted. "But I'm not okay with just letting this idiot go, either."

"Hey! Who are you calling an idiot, you freak? I mean look at you-what kind of super hero wears ratty jeans and leather? Bow down before your god you insolent peasant!"

"Blake, _stop_," Maka snapped. "Eater-" She shook her head. "You're making everything more difficult than it needs to be. The truth is, I have a plan. But here's the thing-I don't know who you _are_, where you came from, or if you can be trusted, and your soul is hidden so that I can't read it. This presents a problem to say the least."

"You have a plan?" Soul blinked at her, and it was a good thing she couldn't see how dumbfounded he was under his helmet. She had just cornered this bozo, just found out what might be going on (because who knew if it was true?) and already, _she had a plan?_

Only his Maka.

A fond smile crept onto his face and, again, it was a very good thing that she was blind to it.

"I have a plan. Only, it doesn't include strangers-_you_ could be holding our friend for all I know."

_Our _friend now was it? _Who were these people?_ They'd been together, had built a life together, for _five years,_ and he'd never so much as heard her utter their names in passing. It was just so-so-strange.

"Nah, this loser ain't Arachnophobia," Black Star said dismissively.

"_Who_?" Maka asked, indignant.

"What?!" Soul practically bellowed because if this was about Arachnophobia, from all that he knew, they really were up shit creek without a paddle. Even as the predominant big bad guy in the city he had only heard whispers, but what he _had_ heard was frightening.

"Look." The assassin crossed his arms, pacing between them. "I've looked into those assholes. This guy isn't the type, and with being able to fly like he did, I'd have heard of him. He's not with them, just some wannabe douche with a fancy helmet. Let's ditch the loser and be done."

"_We?_ So you'll stop trying to go after Kid?"

The man eyed the Grigori for a moment, wary. "I didn't say that. But I'll listen to what you have to say."

She nodded, smiling slightly, and Soul's stomach twisted in knots. "Good. You won't be sorry, Blake."

"It's Black Star!"

"Yeah, yeah." She waved him off with a too fond grin that made Soul want to curl up into himself in abject defeat. Maybe he had just been a stand in all along, a substitute and this was who-was who-

He heard her sigh and raised his eyes. "Alright, look, we have to get out of here. This place is about to get flooded with law enforcement. You-" she looked pointedly at Soul "-can follow us, can hear what I'm thinking, but if you even _think_ of betraying us, so help me, you'll wish you'd never been born. Do you understand?"

The chill in her voice was like a knife in his heart-because what she couldn't know was that he was _already there_. The very idea he could ever betray her, or that this Blake was who she wanted-he'd rather be dead.

"Yeah yeah, tiny tits, don't get your panties in a wad."

Hurt, it was so easy to fall back on what he used to know.

"_What did you sa_y?" Her eyes narrowed into slits again and he _knew _he'd fucked up because that was an insult the Weapon had used on the Meister constantly. It was a stupid one at that, because he absolutely fucking worshiped her tits and-truth be told-she was more than a little distracting in that tight green spandex number-but he didn't have time for that runaway thought train, so he derailed it and coughed pointedly.

"Look, just-" An alert that police would be entering soon flashed across his screen- "we gotta go. We can resume our friendly little chat later, alright?"

"Fine," she gritted out. "I'm going to have to carry you, Blake, with the pol-"

"Nah." Soul couldn't help his cocky grin beneath the mask, part bravado, part sheer elation that he could thwart her from carrying around his rival. "I got this."

He began to rise. Putting out a hand, dark energy shot around Black Star, lifting him up as well. "Lead on, Grigori," he spoke down at her. And as those beautiful wings of light appeared at her back, she did.

Twenty minutes later, they were perched on the roof of the tallest building in Death City. The stars were out, hazy beyond the canopy of human interference, but still there, cold, beautiful, unyielding. Soul had always hated the night sky. Beautiful as it was, it felt like it was mocking him, judging him. It was too pristine, too perfect, too cold. He preferred the sun, hot, temperamental, dangerous, yet bright and essential and absolutely stunning.

The sun had always reminded him of _her._

Yet it was night and the stars shone down in judgement, the pale freckled half moon his only ally as the two on the rooftop gazed at him with suspicious eyes, green and toxic.

_Her _eyes had the power to kill. Him at least.

Soul broke the silence. He couldn't take the tension, the quiet condemnation. "So. This plan?"

Maka sighed and sat on a low ledge next to where the assassin was leaning, her back to the skyline as she faced him. Rooftops posed little danger to the Grigori. She peered at him for a long moment then nodded. "Right. What they really want is Kid. So we give them what they want."

"Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose?" Soul asked dryly before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, Pigtails, if that was your grand plan, you shoulda just left it to your god and not-"

She raised a silencing hand, cutting him off. "We aren't _actually_ going to kill him, you idiot. We fake the assassination. Kid can go into hiding for a few weeks, Arachnophobia will have what they want so Tsubaki will be safe, and it'll give us time to-"

"That's _not_ gonna work," Soul cut her off.

"And why's that, _Eater?_" The way she spat his new handle, with so much disdain, made him cringe.

"'Cause you do that, your pal is as good as dead and girl with him. I've heard things about them, their MO. Chances are once Kid is dead, they'll send people after this idiot," he thumbed towards Black Star, "to sever any tie to the crime, then get rid of the hostage to tie up loose ends."

The Grigori's mouth went from angry to thoughtful. "You're sure?"

Soul shrugged. "Can't be sure, no, but it's likely." And it was. He had heard things about Arachnophobia when he was still the primary menace in the city, none of it good. They would do exactly what he'd just said they would, without compunction or mercy. If he had been a bastard back in the day, they were fucking Lucifer.

Black Star looked visibly shaken. "And how the fuck would you even _know,_ Eater?" he growled.

"You hear things," he answered, voice flat.

Black Star seemed ready to lunge, but Maka put a restraining hand on his shoulder, and Soul couldn't quite stifle an irritated growl.

"Alright." She squeezed Black Star's shoulder to calm him. "Supposing we believe that-the plan can still work. In fact, it will work _better_."

"Explain," Soul said roughly.

"After we fake Kid's death, they'll go after Blake, right?"

"Black Star!" he bellowed. She waved him off, looking to Eater.

"Yeaaaaah, your point?"

"So, we lay an ambush, capture whoever they send, and hopefully, get the Intel to strike back and rescue Tsubaki, maybe even take down their organization."

"Fuck no! What if they just decide to kill Tsu!"

"They won't," Soul offered. "They never kill a hostage until they get confirmation they aren't needed-and if she's a woman and decent looking, I've heard they'll probably just force her to work at a club anyway. Sex trade is huge for them, rumor has it."

"Fuck that!" Black Star made another lunge for him, this time tackling him to the ground. Maka was quick to pull him off, and Soul glared at his assailant, scowling behind the mask.

"It's what they do, moron." His voice was flat, bored. "Got nothin' to do with me. But they won't do it 'till you eat it since they need her to keep telling you she's fine until you do what they want."

The assassin stood hunched, hands on knees, sucking in deep breaths. Soul's scowl deepened as he saw Maka rub his shoulder soothingly. "I'll kill every last one of the bastards for this. You don't fuck with my goddess," he growled.

"So you'll stop trying to kill Kid?" Maka asked quietly.

The man beside her looked up at her, determination lining a face that had looked broken only moments before. "Yeah, count me in. If you're gonna do this, you'll need the help of your god."

Soul wanted to point out that it was really the other way around, but bit his tongue. Some fights just weren't worth it.

* * *

The next morning was absolutely fucking miserable. It was Soul's first day of work-well, ever, really. He was exhausted because he'd been out all night, and the last thing he wanted to do was try to teach music to a bunch of entitled little shits, but he would because he had no choice, not really.

Maka was sweet. She made _him_ a lunch, for once, and kissed him goodbye at the door. She'd called in sick to school, but she promised she'd check on him in the afternoon. It felt nice, her optimism, even through his exhaustion. Even through his despair. Because he knew why she had to miss school today, knew it was because of the plans they had made last night, and he still couldn't stop thinking about how she had acted around Black Star, and it was killing him.

Well, at least it was Kid she would meet with today.

Teaching went about how he expected it to. He was responsible for four classes, each more tedious than the last, and by the time the third rolled around he was ready to blast the entire institution to smithereens with the force of his glare alone.

He kept that tidbit quiet, the calm, bored mask firmly in place as he introduced himself.

"I'm Soul. Welcome to Advanced Orchestra. Now, I'm sure you all think you're musical prodigies or whatever, but you're wrong. You'll learn that pretty fast."

A hand shot up and Soul stifled a sigh. "Yeah, what?" He flicked his eyes to the dark haired girl who had dared raise an appendage.

"Um, Mr. Evans?" He almost cringed at hearing himself addressed like his bloody father.

"It's _Soul_," he snapped back.

He caught a snicker in the front row, a beefy redhead wearing his tie loose. "Shyeah, cause that's not a stage name."

Soul walked forward and loomed over him. "You got something to say, kid, speak up for the class." He bared his too sharp teeth in a menacing smile, and the boy in questioned flattened himself against his chair, swallowing visibly.

"N-no, I'm-uh-good-Mr-"

"Soul."

"Yeah." He cringed.

"Good." He swept his eyes across the room. "Anyone else?"

He wanted to scream when a girl timidly shot her hand up from the back. Lucky for her, with her sandy pigtails, she reminded him slightly of Maka, so his voice was even as he asked "Yes?"

"Um mister-" he narrowed his eyes "-Soul. I mean, your name is Soul Evans, right?"

He let out a breath, nodded. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, there used to be this kid-my mom told me about it when she saw your name-a piano prodigy, I guess, who disappeared." Soul kept his bored mask but it was a near thing. "Related to, um, the famous violinist? Wes Evans? Anyway, his name was Soul Evans, too, and I was wondering-"

"No relation," he cut her off handily. "Now, then, this is what we're doing. We're gonna go around the room and you all are gonna tell me your name, what you play, and what you listen to. I'm sure you all think you have actual taste in music, which I'm also sure none of you do, so when that's done, we'll listen to some decent stuff so you all can learn something about what good music sounds like, and then we'll call it a day."

There were no further questions and they went through class just as he'd said. By the end of the period, he was more than ready for lunch. By the end of the day, he just wanted to go home and sleep, preferably in Maka's arms.

Of course, he couldn't. He'd go home and eat and then Eater had to meet Black Star and the Grigori to find out how the meeting with Kid had gone. Still, that didn't mean he didn't wish things were otherwise. Soul was so exhausted that he didn't wear his helmet on the way home, knowing Maka would yell at him if she knew. He needed the wind in his face, needed to wake the fuck up. They were in some dangerous shit now-Arachnophobia was no fucking joke-and he had to be on his game if he was going to keep Maka safe. And he _was_ going to keep Maka safe.

She was waiting for him when he came through the door, flung herself against him and kissed him soundly before looking up at him with a broad smile. "So? How was your first day, Mr. Evans?"

"Soul," he said reflexively.

"Huh?" She blinked.

"I told them to call me Soul."

"You would." Maka laughed, slapping him playfully on the arm. "So it was good?"

He shrugged. "Was fine. Bunch of pretentious little shits, but I knew that going in."

"I'll bet you were _brilliant_." She beamed. "The pretentious little shits will never know what hit them." She punctuated the sentiment with a chaste kiss to the mouth, then tugged him over to the table. "Sit. I made dinner."

He blinked up at her. Soul couldn't remember the last time she had cooked dinner. "Maka." He shook his head as she returned from the stove. "You didn't-" Then he caught sight of the plate she held, laden with salmon "-have to."

Fish. She had cooked him _fish._ She hated fish-the taste, the texture, the smell. And yet, she had cooked him fish. He smiled, soft, genuine. "Thanks."

"You deserve it!" she said brightly, then began to cut into her own piece of chicken. "Eat up! I can't stay-" She waved her fork, shaking her head unhappily "-still dealing with that jerk Eater and Star and Kid and all, but I think we have time for dessert if you don't take too long."

He didn't take too long. He'd never been one to pass up dessert.

* * *

An hour later, he lay in their bed, naked and panting, sweaty and worn, but utterly satisfied, just watching as she finished cleaning herself up, drying herself off before she worked on her skin tight body suit, shimmying into the little skirt and top. After putting her hair up and back, she donned the half mask last.

She looked neat, put together, in control, in contrast to the sweaty writhing mewling mess who had come undone beneath him only minutes before.

Fuck how he loved to watch her come undone, to be the one to make her lose herself completely, for him, always for him.

"You sure you gotta go?" he said with a sigh, then, looking her up and down, grinned sharply. "Always wanted to fuck the Grigori."

"You fuck the Grigori pretty much every night, and I promise you can fuck the Grigori when I get back later, if you're still up for it, but I need to get out of here." She walked closer, leaned over the bed to peck him chastely on the mouth, and only laughed as he groped her ass when she moved away.

"Later," she tossed over her shoulder as she threw her large hooded trench on over her outfit.

"Gonna hold you to that!" he called after her.

"You'd better," she called back with a final laugh, and then she was out the door.

He really would, too. Even if he was fucking exhausted.

Five minutes later, he was also out the door. Twenty minutes later he was at the warehouse, and another twenty minutes after that he was landing atop the building they'd designated as their meeting spot the night before.

Maka and the blue haired loud mouth were already there, speaking with a third figure in a black robe and a large, ridiculous skull mask.

Landing softly several feet away, Soul drew the sudden attention of the group, their heads swiveling in his direction.

"Eater, my man! Finally decided to show?" the would-be assassin called out as he approached. "'Bout fucking time. Next time, don't keep your god waiting!" He put his hand up for a fist bump and Soul stared at it for a moment before shrugging and putting out his own fist. When in Rome, he supposed. So what if the guy had wanted to kill him the night before? The idea of how close he and Maka were left a sour taste in his mouth, but he couldn't let that show. Not here, not now.

Maka nodded his way, and the masked man turned to her. "This is the one?" he asked quietly, voice a rich, smooth timbre Soul vaguely recognized.

"He calls himself Eater. _Soul_ Eater." The distaste with which she said his name reminded him of the past. He should probably have been bothered by the little thrill it sent up his spine, but he ignored it.

"And he is?" Soul-Eater now, he supposed-thumbed at the masked man.

"Kyle Mortimer. He wanted a face to face meeting with everyone involved-_insisted on it_. But being seen together would not be good for the plan."

"Meeting your would be assassin without protection?" Eater asked skeptically.

The masked man shrugged. "The Grigori is here, and I am capable of defending myself." The voice was emotionless, almost clinical, until he added smugly, "Afterall, I already fought off my attacker once rather handily."

"Tch, luck," the blue haired idiot muttered from the side.

Soul couldn't help it, he snorted. "Shyeah."

"Anyway." The Grigori raised a placating hand before Black Star could react. "You wanted to meet with those who are to be involved in the plan, Mr. Mortimer, so here we are. What would you have of us?"

He figured it had to be odd for Maka to address Kid as a stranger. They had been friends from her first year of college-she'd known Kyle Mortimer for a year before she even met Soul. Occasionally, they still went for coffee to catch up, but Soul was positive that Kid didn't know Maka was the Grigori. No one did, apart from himself, the League, and now this Blake asshole. Normally, Maka didn't cross her civilian life with her duties as a hero (or she didn't knowingly, anyway; obviously their past exposed just how much these things could cross unwittingly). To be forced to do so now, he could sense her discomfort-at the deception, at the entire affair. Friends were important to Maka, and to play double to one couldn't be sitting well with her. Honestly, Soul would have preferred Kid be the one to know the truth rather than the blue haired douchebag she had unmasked herself to the night before. Soul barely knew the up and coming Assistant District Attorney, but he'd never felt jealous-that Mortimer was uninterested in woman had been crystal clear to Soul from their first meeting. He wasn't sure if the man was gay or if Maka had been right to call him asexual, but Kid had never looked twice at Maka or anyone, and that was very much how Soul preferred it.

"Ah, yes, of course," Kid finally spoke again. "To begin with, are you sure your-mmm-allies can be trusted? The Grigori is, of course, above reproach, but I have concerns that a plan that involves the man who would see me dead and another who is an entirely unknown quantity could prove far too unpredictable, one might even say foolhardy."

The Grigori let out a long sigh. "I can vouch for Black Star. If he gives his word, he'll keep it. The other, I-" she paused, seeming to think "-I don't know who he is, and I can't read his soul, so I'm really not sure. Whatever his motives, though, I don't think he's Arachnophobia. If he were, Blake would probably already be dead." The fact they were talking about him as if he weren't standing two feet away was absurd. Soul was about to say something to that effect, but the assassin beat him to it with a protest of his own.

"It's BLACK STAR," he bellowed.

"Yeah, fine." She waved off his concern. "Anyway." She turned to Kid. "Our options are limited, and I don't think this plan puts you in any more danger than you already face. It's ultimately your choice, but I think this is our best option."

"Mmmm…" the man hummed thoughtfully, then paused. After several tense moments, he nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Alright. I agree that your plan is the most viable option. But I think it best I disclose the reasons they want me dead, since if we are to make this plan work, it would be best we all understand the organization we are dealing with."

"Wait, wait, you _knew_ they wanted you offed?" Black Star scoffed, incredulous.

The masked man shrugged. "Of course. That I would know is a large part of the reason they want me dead to begin with. You see, I have been in charge of making a case against them since I started as an ADA last year. It has been done in secret, you understand, but the organization has their moles just as we have ours. While our contacts remain undiscovered, theirs do as well, and that the case is being built is known to them. As I have always been the driving force behind that case, the move to be rid of me was obvious, and that such a plot was in the works came through one of my contacts a few weeks ago."

"So they want you dead so you don't start prosecuting them?" Soul put in, shaking his head. "Why? Someone else will just-"

"No." Kid shook his head. "No one would take my place. My inside contacts are mine alone-they are known only to myself and won't speak to anyone else. Moreover, most authorities discredit the very existence of Arachnophobia as an organization. They keep a very low profile and are… disturbed by my persistence, I suppose. Taking me out would cripple the investigation and the case, a fact of which they are clearly aware. They are close to something, to their goal. Though I am not entirely clear on their endgame, I know it's big-that the implications would be widespread and devastating. But I am also close to being able to drag this case into the light, to exposing them. I'm finally close to discovering just who is behind the organization. Weaken the head, and surely the rest will crumble. They are a cancer in our city, and I _will_ cut out the tumor." He was clenching his fist so hard Soul could hear the knuckles crack through the heightened hearing of his helmet.

"Alright, alright, so they want you dead because you're working to expose them. What's that got to do with us?" Black Star cut in.

Kid sighed, murmured, "No wonder you were such a useful tool."

"Whadyousay?" the assassin bellowed, taking a step towards the ADA.

"Stop." Maka stepped in front of Black Star, then turned to Kid. "So they're well organized. So well organized that they leave little trace, have the authorities fooled into believing their actions are those of many instead of a larger group."

"Precisely." Kid nodded. "Your reputation is well deserved, Grigori." He turned again to Soul and to Black Star. "My point, of course, is to suggest the danger here. We are dealing with a group so methodical in their secrecy that few believe they exist at all. To most, they are whispers in the night spoken among thieves, myth, legend. The boogey man. Only, these whispers, this monster under the bed, is all too real, and they are planning something massive. This plan of yours," he looked to Eater-clearly, Maka had informed the ADA of the part that came from him, "well, catching operatives in the act, capturing them, this could potentially be the break I need. But it's risky. When it is done, all of us will be on their radar."

"And Arachnophobia doesn't take kindly to people meddling in their shit-I know, I've heard," Soul offered.

"Have you, now?" He could practically feel the man's eyes narrow, though the mask hid it well.

Eater shrugged his response. "You hear things when you keep your ear to the ground. Look, we know the risk-you've covered your ass. So we doin' this thing or what?" Truthfully, it was the last thing he wanted Maka involved in, but he knew there would be no swaying her, not with friends involved, not with people in danger. At least now he could be there, too, could make sure she stayed safe.

"Hells yeah!" Black Star cut in. "Ass fuckers have Tsubaki. We're gonna fuck them back!"

Rolling his eyes behind his helmet at the outburst, Soul turned to Kid, who nodded. Maka also nodded, and, all agreed, all in, all that was left was to hash out were the finer details. By the end of the night, they had a decided plan.

Soul only hoped it actually _worked,_ that in the end, it didn't get them all killed. Their asses really were in the fire now.


	4. Countdown to Shutdown

When he got home the night of the meeting, Soul had little energy to worry about being in the eye of the fucking hurricane as he finally flopped into bed. He _had_ been worried about beating Maka home, but it was needless-apparently, in escorting Kid back, she'd taken her time. Well, so much the better. She should be fine and he was utterly spent, exhaustion taking him swiftly into restless dreams.

Trudging out of bed only a few hours later to the sound of his phone alarm blaring out "Fuckin' Up," he wasn't surprised to find Maka already preparing breakfast in the kitchen-it had always been her provence in their little twosome. What did surprise him was the frown she wore as she eyed him speculatively-normally she greeted him with a wide smile.

"Mornin'," he said groggily as he moved up to kiss her chastely.

"Good morning, Soul. Are you-" She had subtly reached a hand to feel his forehead before playing it off by running it through his hair "-are you okay?" she asked finally, eyes searching his.

He stifled a yawn. "'M fine. Jus' tired."

"You look like hell." She shook her head. "And last night you-I mean-I tried to wake you up when I got home, but you didn't even _stir._"

"You tried to wake me? How?" He raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"Mmm may have taken off my clothes and pressed up against you. May even have tried rubbing you. You were _seriously _dead to the world. You've never, _ever_ been so out of it that I couldn't perk you up with the promise of-mmm-time together. So really, Soul-are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I swear. Just, long first week, and I don't sleep well when you're out dealing with assholes," he grunted, shuffling to sit at the kitchen table. Strictly speaking, it was true enough; it _had_ been a long week at work and he really _couldn't_ sleep when she was out since he was out with her now, and it was taking its toll.

Maka sighed and shook her head again. "I know you worry, but don't. I'm fine. I can take care of myself-_you_ should know that better than anyone." Her grin and punch to the shoulder were halfhearted, tinged with worry, and he forced his own half hearted grin.

"I do-kicked my ass often enough. Just-be careful, okay?"

"I always am." Her smile softened and she moved up to kiss him again, this time long and soft. Finally pulling away, she pushed at his shoulder. "Now go, sit, or I'll never get these pancakes done."

Soul complied, trying to appear more awake than he felt, resting his head on his forearms and watching as she cooked. He would have helped her if he had even an ounce of energy to spare, but just keeping his eyes open was proving to be a massive challenge.

When he was awoken by a shake on the shoulder and the smell of coffee, he knew he'd lost that particular battle. He lifted his head, wiping off drool from his cheek with the back of his hand before grinning up at his girlfriend sheepishly. Before he could apologize, she just shook her head, her frown creasing her face.

"Drink," she said, sounding resigned. "Pancakes are almost done."

He took a sip as she walked back to the stove. Black with sugar, just how he liked it. The woman was a saint. Sipping languidly, he watched her backside appreciatively as she worked at the stove. How long had it been since he'd made her breakfast? Too long, not since before he'd become Eater.

God he was a crappy boyfriend lately. Worrying her. Not helping out in the house for shit. Not even waking up when she was _in the mood_-could he be any more pathetic? Normally, he could be dying and he'd still be up for sex with Maka. _What the hell was wrong with him?_ He'd always been able to sustain his all night activities in the past, his superhuman body producing an abundance of energy and requiring far less sleep than a normal person.

He didn't have time to think through it further as Maka set a large plate of pancakes and sausages in front of him and he focused his energy on eating. All that extra energy needed fuel-and he couldn't afford not to provide it with his current exhaustion.

They got through breakfast on small talk, only the occasional worried glance from his girlfriend signaling anything was wrong, and then they finished their morning routine and it was off to work, another glorious day at the DCA.

Teaching was shit again. Since he'd done the introductory bullshit, he moved to a divide and conquer strategy. They were to form groups, though they could choose to work alone (because fuck he understood not wanting to work with others). He'd assigned projects for them to work on depending on level, ranging from explaining all aspects of a song of their choice for the Intro students, to either composing a song or reworking an existing song to perform on a designated date for the Advanced class.

It was a good arrangement. They would actually do something worthwhile-and he could avoid doing much at all other than helping them when they asked for it. They asked a lot, which grated on his fraying nerves, but that was his job now. Fucking entitled little shits.

That night, after a quick dinner with a clearly worried Maka, who only left after several assurances that he was fine, Soul flew to a rooftop, made sure his helmet would wake him if the Grigori showed up on the scanners, and promptly fell asleep. With any luck, she wouldn't need him. Yeah, his luck tended to be shit, but he could hope.

Later that night, slightly more rested after his nap-apparently Maka's night was uneventful-he strove to make up for his lack of performance before when she finally got home. If her shrill cries of his name were anything to go by, then he was successful, and he fell asleep that night with his girlfriend in his arms and a satisfied smile plastered on his face.

* * *

The days dragged on much the same. He woke up, ate, taught, ate, spent the night as Eater. Maka had decided Black Star needed protection while the plan was put in order (more like making sure he didn't do anything stupid) so they took turns babysitting him.

Mostly, Soul's nights guarding the assassin involved playing video games on the couch of the asshole's substandard apartment. For an idiot, he was annoyingly adept at Halo.

He had his helmet tuned to alert him if Maka came up. Most nights, when she did, it was after the situation was handled, so there was little for him to do but worry and get his ass kicked in the video game by a guy his girlfriend may or may not be holding a torch for.

His third night on Black Star duty, exhausted, bored, annoyed, he'd cracked just a little. Kid's fake assassination was supposed to go down in two more days, and the worry about everything that could go wrong with this whole mess were rubbing his already frayed nerves raw.

"So what's the deal with you and the Grigori anyway?" he'd blurted out after yet another loss to the moron.

Black Star side eyed him for a moment then shrugged. "None of your fucking business, Eater."

"You just seem pretty chummy. She your girl or something?" Fuck that hurt to even contemplate; the words tasted like poison on his tongue, bitter, acid.

Black Star just snorted, then began to laugh. "Dude-duuude-no. Fuck no, that's just _gross. _We-shit-we grew up together, that's all. She was my neighbor-known her since we were in diapers. She's like my sister or some shit. Nah, dude, Tsu's my girl. Why'd you think I have to get her back?" The assassin clenched his fist at this, and beneath the elation that there was _nothing between them_, Soul felt a little bad for dredging up the thought of why they were together in the first place.

"Sorry," he forced out, the apology foreign and heavy in his mouth.

"Whatever, man." He side eyed Soul again and frowned. "What's your deal, anyway? You're always in that dumb helmet, and you're stalking Ma-the Grigori and shit, and now you're asking about me and her-you got a thing for her? 'Cause I gotta tell you, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Not stalking her," he grunted.

"That's not what _she_ said," Black Star offered casually, putting his hands up behind his head.

"Well, she's _wrong_," he snapped.

"Annnnyway, just watch it. 'Cause if you fuck her over in any way, I'll fucking hand you your ass."

Soul scoffed. "Same," he said before he could stop himself. Star eyed him again for a moment before taking up his controller again.

"Speaking of handing you your ass-you ready to get pummeled again?"

Eater's only answer was a half shrug before he took up his own controller. Hopefully, the idiot didn't read too much into his thoughtless response. Hopefully.

* * *

The next morning was more of the same. Soul was spent. He'd apparently passed out again without satisfying his girl-and he lived to fucking satisfy her. He was essentially dead on his feet as he endured Maka's concern before they headed off to school together. Eying him skeptically, she'd insisted she would drive them both in her little sedan instead of taking his bike, and he didn't have the energy to argue.

Hell, he hardly had the energy to put one foot in front of the other.

He used his morning planning period to sleep. With his classes working on their project, and having scowled enough for questions to taper off, he spent his actual teaching time at his desk trying not to doze. He was only partially successful, waking with a start to snickering students more than once.

By lunch, he didn't even have energy enough to chew his sandwich properly, so he slept through his break instead along with the next planning period. By his last class, Soul felt a little better for the naps, if only a little, and as he sat and watched his Advanced students working furiously, he couldn't help but to wonder, not for the first time, what the fuck was wrong with him.

Yeah he wasn't sleeping much-but hell-he hadn't slept as the Weapon either, and it was never an issue. So why _now?_ Was the Tech so different from his powers or...

_Or_...

Shit. _Shit_. His powers.

Fuck_, that was it-He was supposed to be suppressing his powers. _ Although he wasn't _using _them, he wasn't taking his pills, either, so they were still there, right beneath the surface, just waiting for his need. His body was now powering the Tech as well as his unused abilities, and he wasn't sleeping on top of that.

Fuck fuck _fuck_. No _wonder_ he was a zombie, a dead man walking. The Tech had been designed to draw on the excess energy his body produced because his powers were suppressed; it was never meant to be used when his powers were active, but he'd never even considered this could be an issue. Yet, clearly, fueling both Tech and powers without any sort of real rest was too much even for a body that Stein had described as a micro power plant. Because this had started with his new job, with his lack of sleep. Soul had stretched himself too thin and it was taking a heavy toll.

Still, it wasn't like he could do anything differently. He couldn't, or rather, wouldn't. Sure he could take his pills again, rely on the Tech alone, but the what ifs killed him. Arachnophobia was dangerous, unpredictable. He needed to be there for Maka now more than ever. What if he took his pills and something happened to her, something his powers could have prevented?

He couldn't risk that. He'd rather wear himself into the ground, wear himself to death.

By the end of the day, exhausted, all Soul wanted was to forget the wide world existed, take Maka, and run far and fast, somewhere no one could ever touch them.

It was after school and he'd figured no one was around, so he played _that song_ to vent his feelings, the one that had always been _him_, but was now also _her_ and _them_. He was startled when he finished the last tinkling notes by the sound of clapping. Maka was standing at the end of piano, smiling like he was actually worth something.

He was pretty sure it was that smile he'd fallen in love with.

"Hey," he said softly, returning the smile.

"Hey," she repeated, her own smile widening as she walked around the piano and slid next to him on the bench, bumping his shoulder with her own.

"Thought you had papers to grade." Soul was fingering the keys thoughtfully.

"I finished," Maka said with a small shrug. "That was the song you played for me that first night, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It was supposed to be a warning, you know." He met her gaze with his own, looking up from his hands. So fond. He'd never deserved her fondness, but still, it made him warm, chased away the worry and exhaustion, if only for an instant.

"Yeah." Her gaze never wavered. "I know." She returned her eyes to her own hands, where she'd begun tinkling the keys randomly. "It's changed though. Especially the end."

"I've changed," he said quietly.

Her eyes lifted to meet his again. "No, you found your path." He was about to correct her, but she put a finger to his lips. "This was always you, Soul. You just needed to figure that out."

She was going to kill him with the sheer unadulterated love shining from her green, green eyes. How could an angel love a demon, a bastard, a piece of shit like him?

And yet, _she did.  
_  
She was wrong, though. He hadn't changed, not really. He'd just found _her_.

"I was thinking I would stay in tonight and we could spend some time together. I know we haven't been able to, lately, and I thought-well, I _know_ we need it."

Was she serious? Soul met her gaze, intense, searching. Fuck, yeah, she was serious. He must have really worried her if she was suggesting this so close to executing the plan. But he was on duty minding Black Star again tonight. If Eater wasn't there to do his job and Black Star did something stupid, the Grigori would kill him.

Then again, if he tried to blow her off now, blow this off, she might kill him anyway.

He shook his head. The choice was between a log and a steaming pile, as usual. "I-I can't, not tonight. I made plans with a-a friend," he explained, feeling like a right bastard. Gods did he want to spend time with her.

Maka tilted her head, frowning. "Blow them off."

"I-I'm sorry Maka, I can't. I wish I could, I really do, but I-"

"Whatever, it's fine." She heaved a heavy sigh as she rose from the piano, pecking him on the cheek before she straightened. "We can try another night, I guess. You almost done here? We should get home."

"Yeah, I'm done."

And he really was.

* * *

Maka was quiet through dinner, another round of take out, and when she made to leave, because if he was going out then there was no point in her staying, she stared back at him from the doorway, pensive, thoughtful.

Soul should have known then that something was wrong, but he was so wrapped up in trying to do _everything_ that he missed it.

He should have known that Maka never missed a damn thing.

He should have guessed she'd show up at Black Star's place just as he was finally beating the asshat at Halo to interrupt his triumph.

He should have known he was _utterly fucked._

She stormed in, planted herself in front of the flatscreen hands on hips, looming far larger than her petite 5'6" frame had any right to.

"We need to talk." She glared his way, voice tight.

"Whoa, buddy, wha'd you do to twist her panties?" The blue haired idiot laughed.

Maka shifted her gaze to Black Star, swooped up the video game box with lightening speed, and chucked it at him.

"Hey! Ow! That fucking hurt!" he groaned, rubbing the side of his head.

"Then _shut up_, Blake. This doesn't concern you. It concerns _him_." She glared down at Eater again, and Soul cringed. He didn't know what was going on, really, but it could be nothing good. He'd seen that look before, mostly, but not always, as the Weapon, and it was _never_ anything good.

Black Star didn't even deign to correct her, so clearly, he knew the look as well.

Soul's stomach clenched. What had Eater done? What had _he _done? He didn't know, wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Uh, yeah, right." He went to run a hand through his hair, remembered the stupid helmet, put it down lamely. He'd done that far too many times in front of her. "But what about him? I'm supposed to be-"

"Blake will stay put. He knows better than to pull shit under my nose, don't you, Blake?" She narrowed her eyes down at the assassin.

"Yeah, yeah, I already promised, Ma-" her eyes narrowed to slits "-the Grigori. You know I'm a god of my word, so I don't know why the fuck I even need the babysitting service, but whatever. Go hash it out with loverboy. Ima just solo me some more asskicking goodness." He waved his controller around for emphasis.

The Grigori rolled her eyes, then turned her gaze back to Eater expectantly.

Soul got up and walked towards the door, but Maka grabbed his elbow before he could get far and tugged him to the window instead. She opened it easily enough inspite of the rust and dust of the thing (Black Star lived in a relative shithole) then turned to face him.

"Through here," she said, waiting. There was a small, rickety fire escape. He wondered if it would even hold them, but he supposed, since they could both fly, it didn't really matter. And yet, he'd prefer to keep his feet on more solid ground. Nervous, he just looked at her for a moment.

"Couldn't we maybe, um-"

"Out. _Now,_" she cut him off, her voice tight.

He released a puff of breath, something between a sigh and a huff, then ducked to go out the window. As he set foot on the rusting escape, it creaked alarmingly, and he clutched the rail in one white knuckled hand as he turned to watch Maka duck through herself, seemingly unperturbed when the metal death trap groaned under their combined weight.

Her back to the window, she eyed him for a long moment and sighed herself. She looked tired. Why did she look so damned tired? Soul wanted to reach out to her, hold her, but of course he couldn't, so he just stared, waiting.

Finally, she commanded, "Take of your helmet?"

"What?" He couldn't keep the utter incredulity from his voice.

"You heard me. Take. Off. Your helmet."

"You know I can't do that," he said, forcing himself to sound bored. "Thought you were smart, Grigori, but I'm not about to unmask myself. That'd be be like me telling you to unmask _yourself_. Not gonna-" She reached up and unhooked her own mask, revealing her whole face, eyes full of something like hurt, "-happen…" he trailed off, stunned. His stomach clenched even tighter; he thought he might lose his dinner.

"I know who you are," she said softly, gaze so intent it was if she was trying to look straight through the helmet that blocked her view of his face, that masked her view of his soul. She stepped closer. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? I don't know where you got the Tech, Soul, but I know it's you under there."

Fuck. His heart was hammering in his chest. Fuck fuck _fuck._ How had she? Fuck. Maybe it was a guess. Maybe he could-

"Soul Eater, that's my name." He nodded, not quite pulling off casual, though the helmet's filter made everything sound flat. "What of it?"

Suddenly, hurt was layered with anger. Her fist clenched. "Cut the shit, Soul. I followed you to the warehouse. Soul Evans went in, and fucking Soul Eater came out. I'm not an idiot. So just-take off the damned helmet and talk to me, because I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but this-"

"Maka," he cut her off with a sigh of her name, finally doing as she bid and removing the helmet.

"Soul," she replied quietly, her hand moving up to touch his chest right over his heart, her gaze searching, or maybe imploring, "Why?"

He moved both hands up to clutch hers, resting above his hammering heart. "I had to," he whispered, not knowing what to say, what she wanted him to say. "How did you-I mean, why did you follow me?"

"I've been worried. You aren't sleeping. You look terrible. And-" she shook her head "-there were things you said as Eater that sounded so much like the Weapon, and sometimes sounded so much like _you,_ and the way you move-and I-the more I saw you, the more I _knew. _The more I had to know _for sure_. I just-I don't understand why. And no, Soul, you didn't have to. That's a bullshit answer. I want a real one." Maka's voice was strained, as if she were barely containing the urge to scream. She probably was, and a lance of guilt pierced through him, crippling.

"I love you," he managed, his hands clenching hers more tightly.

"That's not a reason, Soul." Her mouth was a line of carefully contained emotion.

"But it is," he blurted, because she didn't _get it._ How could she get it when she wasn't the one sitting home every night, sick with worry? How could she get it when she wasn't the failure, the one who had always fucked up, the one who kept fucking up, who couldn't even make sure she was safe? Maka was too good to get it, far too good. "Do you know what it's like?" His voice was pained, quiet. "To wait for you, night after night, as assholes hurt you? Assholes like the Weapon? Assholes I could stop except that I'm a fucking asshole myself and fucked it all up? I-I couldn't take it anymore, Maka, I couldn't. If something happened to you-_if something happened to you,_ I'd-" His voice was breaking with emotion, and fuckitall, this was too damned _hard._ Why was everything always so fucking hard?

"I can take care of myself, Soul. I've always taken care of myself." The hurt remained, along with something like incredulity, and her eyes were ablaze. "And you-do you _know_ what the League will do if they find out about this? Do you know how hard it was-to keep you free, to keep you _safe_?" She shook her head, the movement sharp. "This was fucking stupid. You can't do this, Soul, you _can't_. I can't lose you either, and if you violate your agreement, if you-" Her voice was rising with her emotion.

"Maka." He moved one hand from clutching hers, reaching for her cheek, but she slapped it away.

"Don't," she growled, ripping her hand from his chest and glaring at him. "Just-"

"Maka," he interrupted again, his own volume rising. He had to cut this off, because she was jumping to conclusions and, yeah, maybe he was stupid, but he wasn't _that_ stupid. "The League knows, at least some of them. I got Tech through Stein. The agreement says-says I can't use my powers. It doesn't say anything about Tech. Stein knows, and your dad knows, and-"

"My _dad?"_ she almost shouted, her incredulity rising again.

"Shh-" He stepped closer, grabbed her hands. "Yeah, your dad. I, uh." Soul moved a hand up to run it through the back of his hair, and this time, there was no helmet to hinder him, the offending item resting next to him on the rusted fire escape. "I sort of had to go through him to get to Stein," he added, sheepish.

"My dad helped you? But he-he _hates_ you."

"Mmm," Soul agreed, "but he _loves_ you." When Maka scoffed and looked away, looked past him to the city lights beyond, he squeezed her hands, returning her focus to his face. "You know he does. And when I told him why I wanted the Tech-well-I guess he just loves you more than he hates me. So yeah, the League knows, Maka. It's okay. And-I'm-I'm really sorry I didn't tell you, I am. I just needed to be there with you, to make sure you're okay. I just wanted to help you, to stop feeling so damn useless, and I knew you'd try to stop me. So yeah. I'm just. I'm sorry. I love you and I'm sorry and please don't hate me, okay?"

"I don't hate you, stupid," she huffed, pulling closer, pulling his hands around her waist, then putting her own on his shoulders. "I just-" she shook her head, her eyes wide and honest and _hurt_ as they met his. "I don't like the lies. No more lies, okay?"

He swallowed, hard. Fuck. _Fuck._ It wasn't a lie, wasn't a lie, _wasn't a lie_. She hadn't asked, so he wasn't lying, right? "Yeah," he said hoarsely, his hands tightening on her waist. "Yeah," he repeated.

"Good." She smiled, and if it was a little forced, well, he couldn't blame her. He'd fucked up _again_, and the sick thing was, if Soul had it to do over, he wouldn't change it because he _needed _to be here with her. He was still selfish, utterly selfish. Some things never really changed. "Now, get your helmet back on. We need to go back in and say goodbye to Black Star."

"Huh?" He gaped at her. "But isn't it my-"

Her smile widened, genuine. "I told you I wanted to spend the night together, and I meant it, silly. Blake really will keep his word-he'll be fine for a night. Unless you'd rather stay and continue to get your ass nailed to the wall at Halo instead of going home and nailing the Grigori, that is?" she raised her eyebrows, amusement clear on her face.

Oh-_oh._ Yes, yes indeed. She must really have forgiven him, and the prospect of spending the night together was glorious. And yet, the guilt was thick, stifling as he nodded.

The guilt didn't stay long after they left, drowned in hoarse cries of her name for a time, even if he knew it would be back full force in the morning. Even if he knew the clock was running fast and furious, the countdown to shutdown now begun.


	5. Strawberry Crepes

The morning after Maka confronted him, the morning after she'd dragged him home to take out the last vestiges of her frustration with him on his dick, Soul woke up with her on his chest, feeling rested for the first time in ages, wanting nothing more than to wake her up the same way he'd put her to sleep. But as he watched her sleeping so peacefully, he decided he'd much rather take care of her. It was a Saturday, he wasn't exhausted, and they had the whole day ahead of them. He wanted to make her breakfast. She deserved a good breakfast. God knew she hadn't gotten one from him in far too long.

As he slid her off to the side, she moaned her protest, reaching for him. It was adorable, and his urge to wake her up _right_ almost overtook his urge to care for her, but he reminded himself they had time for that later, and grunted out, "Goin' to the bathroom, be back," which earned a sleepy hum as she burrowed further into the covers. She must be exhausted, too, to be sleeping in like this-Maka rarely slept in-and he felt a deep pang of guilt that he had contributed to it, to her worry and her sleeplessness. Would only keep contributing to it.

Well, maybe breakfast couldn't make up _that,_ but it was a start.

Forty minutes later, a piping hot plate of crepes with strawberries and whipped cream was laid out on a tray, along with tea and juice. He padded back to their room in his boxers (he had no intention of actually getting dressed today), and as he pushed open the door, watched as she sat up blearily and yawned, blinking his way.

"Soul? Is that…?" She looked up at the tray sleepily.

"Yup, crepes and strawberries, your favorite." He grinned down at her as he placed the tray in her lap.

"What's the occasion?" she said with another yawn.

"Aside from me fucking up royally with the whole Eater thing, you mean?" he asked. "Just you. Bein' fucking amazing."

She smiled up at him as she took her first bite, and Soul smiled back. Honesty felt good, it turned out, and the weight that had been lifted from him was almost palpable. Too bad there was still another three hundred pound gorilla sitting on his chest, holding him down.

He moved to leave and she grabbed his arm, mouth full but eyes inquisitive.

"Gonna get my breakfast and join you, be right back."

Maka nodded, smile widening, and he went and took up the other tray with his identical breakfast and returned to the room. They ate together in companionable silence, and after the last weeks of overextension and exhaustion and secrecy, it felt so domestic, so _normal_, that he just wanted to stay that way forever, forget about Eater and the Grigori, about Black Star and Kid, about fucking Arachnophobia.

They couldn't, she'd never _let them_, but fuck did Soul wish they could.

When she was done, she moved to place her tray on the nightstand, but he took it from her instead, juggling both trays and their remaining contents to bring them back to the kitchen.

"I'll take care of clean up," he called over his shoulder as he went, not wanting her to have to lift a finger, wanting to make her morning as perfect as she deserved it to be, as perfect as she deserved every damned morning to be. But as he moved to the sink to take care of washing the pile up of dishes, he felt something warm pressed against his back, felt strong arms encircle his waist, felt hot breath against his neck as she whispered, "Come back to bed. Was hoping you'd show me why you called yourself Eater."

He couldn't help the shiver of anticipation, or the growing girth within his boxers as she led him back to their room. Well, there was more than one way to ensure a perfect morning. In their case, they ensured it several times and again in the shower before finally deigning to wear clothes or do anything that didn't involve their bed.

Even when they did, Soul would much rather have stayed there, but Maka insisted they should probably do something other than each other, and much as he didn't agree, he _did _listen.

They went to lunch together at their favorite little cafe, took a walk through the market district, then took a drive through the desert on his bike, just spending time together in a way they hadn't done in weeks, in months even. It almost felt like their old life, back in New York, when she hadn't been the Meister or the Grigori, and he hadn't been the Weapon or the unemployed loser or Eater, when they had just _lived life_. He missed that, and he wondered if she missed it, too, but even if she did, she was still _Maka,_ so she would keep doing what was _right_ over anything else, her own personal happiness included. It was part of what he loved so damn much about her, though sometimes, _how he hated it._

That night, they both went to babysit Black Star, who sported a sickeningly knowing smirk for at least half the night as he looked between Eater and the Grigori. Perhaps the vibe between them _had_ changed, but how could it be helped? There was a huge difference for Maka between that annoying asshole who kept stalking her and her boyfriend of four years who wanted to protect her, and suddenly, the tension that had long existed between the two self styled heroes had vanished to be replaced by an easy camaraderie. If even a dense idiot like Black Star could catch on to that, well, who cared what he thought anyway?

Unfortunately, that new camaraderie didn't prevent Soul from getting his ass kicked by both of them at Halo. Since the night was eerily quiet, eerily devoid of criminal activity, they didn't end up having to leave the apartment once, which meant that he got his ass kicked many times over. Well, he'd take that. Fuck of a lot better than getting his ass kicked by some villain asshole for real, fuck of a lot better than watching her do the same.

They ordered in pizza, set out snacks, and when Soul refused to remove the helmet, Maka touched his arm lightly, told him it was okay, Star was a friend, Star would never betray them. He didn't believe in Star, but he believed in her, so he listened, and the blue haired assassin grinned like an idiot.

"I fucking knew it! Your Eater here and your 'eater' at home were the same asshole!" he exclaimed triumphantly with an eyebrow waggle that had Maka going scarlet and punching him in the arm. Soul only rolled his eyes in response.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm Soul." He narrowed his eyes then. "But how do you know who I am?"

"She showed me a picture, like, duh dude." Star rolled his own eyes to the heavens in an exaggerated motion and Maka laughed.

"Anyway." She smiled between them fondly, and she looked so damned _happy_ that Soul actually felt happy himself. "It's pizza time! We even got half with anchovies for your disgusting ass." She made a face at Soul and he grinned at her stupidly as she stuck out her tongue like they were fourteen instead of twenty-four.

Pizza was good. Everything was good. He wished everything could stay this good, her snuggled against him on the couch, pizza, videogames, fucking normalcy. Hell, Black Star was even growing on him!

Of course, it wouldn't last, couldn't. Didn't. The next night they would stage the assassination, and after that? Well, it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose.

* * *

Their part in the assassination wasn't really much to speak of. Black Star would show up at Kid's, Kid would play dead, Black Star would run, and they would be too late to chase him down. Most of the work was being done by others-faking an autopsy, hiding Kid, spreading the word. Still, Soul was anxious, and if the way Maka was periodically biting her lip was any indication, so was she. Part of him wanted to occupy her mouth with his own, break the tension, but he couldn't exactly take off his helmet as they openly, intentionally patrolled the side of the city away from Kid's mansion, so he settled for grabbing her hand briefly to squeeze it as they landed on a tall building, looking out into the clouded night. It was dark, quiet, ominous-the perfect night for an assassination.

Maka sighed, worrying her lip again with her teeth beneath the edge of her mask.

"It'll be fine, you know," Soul ventured. "Kid and Black Star are both gonna be fine. It's a good plan-it'll work."

"Thought you didn't trust Black Star," she said as she glanced sideways at him.

His answering shrug was more casual than he felt, his words more comfort than truth. "I don't, but you do, and I trust _you_. Besides, Star's alright. Kind of an ass, but not a total bastard. Well, at least, not outside of a video game."

"I told you he grows on you." Maka actually smiled.

"Like a fucking cancer," he said, mock grumbling. She just laughed, smacking his arm playfully.

"Hey, that's my bro you're talking about."

"Your what now?" He choked.

"Well, okay, not literally, but we grew up together-saying my friend seems too small. Blake is like the brother I never had and never wanted, but who shoved his way in anyway. I don't know how else to describe it. He's just-family." Her voice was soft, contemplative.

"Nah, I get it. It's nice. Wish I had family like that-" He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth because he'd always been tight lipped about that part of his past and he could see the old questions in her eyes. "But seriously, if he's so important, why'd you never talk about him or this friend of his they've got? You knew her too, right?"

Maka sighed, and though Soul could see in her eyes how much she wanted to pursue the first part, she didn't. "Yeah, Tsubaki was my best friend in high school, but when we all graduated, they both decided to take time off. Blake and Tsu left the city to find out about his family, and I just-I don't know, I didn't know when or if I'd ever see them again, he was so determined. And I was so _hurt_, because Tsu was my friend, and Blake was my friend. I was the person who brought them together, but then, Tsubaki thought she could help him because she was Japanese and Blake's birth family was from Japan, and suddenly, the two people in my life I thought I could count on to be there just _weren't._ It was too hard to talk about them, really _talk_ about them. I mean, remember those stories I told about my goofy neighbor? I know I never gave his name-but that was Blake. I'm sorry, I wasn't keeping it from you, I swear I-"

She was cut off by an alert on her wrist, at the same time as the corner of his own vision within the helmet flashed red. The AI droned in Ox's voice that Kyle Mortimer's body was just found in his mansion, that police were on the scene, and they both sprang into action. This was their cue.

They were across the city and at the mansion in a matter of minutes, over the police lines, eyeing the blood stain on the floor. The scene was gruesome, far more gruesome than anything he ever would have done even when he was the resident bastard. He stole things; he didn't hurt people.

The Grigori talked to a cop for a moment while Soul fought the bile rising into his throat at the sight of the gore, reminding himself repeatedly that it wasn't real to keep from losing his dinner, a very bad prospect in the confines of his helmet. Thankfully, Maka finished up and they sped off in the direction Black Star had taken as if in a frantic search. They didn't find him-that was the point. They did meet him back at his apartment though, and instead of entering covered up and in secret, they changed into plain clothes and arrived bearing takeout, as if they had planned to meet as friends, as if Black Star were angling for an alibi. Arachnophobia had to buy this fully for it to work-which meant it had to look flawlessly real.

This time it was Thai food and Halo and far more tense, because now was the critical point. Now was when they started guessing, and guessing was dangerous.

Yes, Soul and Maka were there for plausibility, but they were also there as backup, in case Arachnophobia acted more quickly than anticipated. Kid believed that they would likely wait a few days to strike, set up a false meeting point to give up Tsubaki, then take out Black Star there, but that wasn't guaranteed and they weren't taking chances.

Three nights passed in much the same way: tensely. Each night one of them babysat Star in plain clothes while the other patrolled, assuming Arachnophobia was watching closely now. In the day, the assassin stuck to crowded venues where an attack would draw far too much notice.

Three nights had passed and Soul was exhausted again, not sleeping at night, not sleeping in the day, the Tech and his unused powers leaving him completely drained. As they left school, Maka was eying him with concern, but he assured her he was fine, just tired. They both knew that was true-didn't mean it erased the crease of worry from her brow, and the guilt gnawed at his soul. He ignored it. This was the critical phase, and he'd be damned if he wasn't ready with everything he had to keep her safe.

It was his night to stay with Star again and he'd fallen asleep on the assassin's couch, too spent to even hold a controller properly, when he awoke with a start to the loud blaring of "Turn Down for What," nearly falling off the couch at the intrusion of terrible. Soul shot up, blinked, wiped the drool from his face with the back of his hand, and was about to tell the asshole to never sully his ears with that shit again when he noticed Star on a cell phone, mouth an angry line.

"Well, can I talk to her, then?" His voice was tight with carefully contained rage, and Soul knew instantly what was happening. "Yeah, she'd better be. Hurry up, I don't have all night, peasant."

Another pause, then. "Tsu," the assassin breathed. "You're okay, right? They haven't hurt you, right?" Then after a moment. "Yes-no-good. Yes. I know, I-I love you, too. It's gonna be okay, I promise. You wouldn't be in this mess if I weren't such a fuck up, but I'm making it right."

After a final short pause he added, " Yeah, I know, I'll-hey! Put her back!" he practically screamed at the end. Then, a minute later. "I know, I'll be there. I did your dirty work-you guys watch the news, the asshole's dead-no way I'm not getting Tsu back. Yeah. Yeah. Alright."

As he lowered the phone from his ear he muttered, "Yeah, fuck you too, buddy," before raising his free hand to rub one temple, his brow furrowed, tense.

Soul felt a massive pang of empathy for the guy as he watched, feeling like a creep for intruding on such a clearly painful and private moment. While Star had mentioned in passing that Tsu was his girl, Soul hadn't realized that the assassin was in love with this woman-had been too busy worrying about his past with Maka or the bullshit they faced-but as it clicked into place, everything made more sense, and he suddenly felt like a heel. This poor asshole had the woman he loved torn away from him and he was doing what he had to survive. If it were Soul, if it were Maka they'd taken, he would already have burned the city to the ground to get her back.

This guy was going through hell and this was the first time he really let it show.

"Hey, uh, Star," Soul stammered awkwardly. "We're gonna get her back."

Black Star looked up and nodded, face still grim. "Yeah, man, I know."

"So they set up a meeting point?" Soul asked.

"Yeah," the assassin said slowly. "Business district, tomorrow at midnight. Some old warehouse yard." He aimed his eyes heavenward. "So fucking cliche. Not at all fitting for the arrival of a big star like me, but I'll make it work."

Soul just nodded and let him have his delusion of grandeur in peace as he texted Maka. He filled her in on the details, and suddenly, the real party was about to start.

* * *

The only problem was that they had to keep the operation to themselves. With Arachnophobia so widespread, so insidious within the city, Kid couldn't tell who was infected, so using any branch of law enforcement for back up could blow everything. No, it had to be Black Star, Maka, and Soul alone, and with only the three of them, it could prove difficult to deal with whatever Arachnophobia sent their way. The only thing that made the plan less uncertain was Kid's contacts. One of them had caught wind that the organization was sending its best assassin, a mystery man that even the contacts had never seen, but who was rumored to be highly effective. Even still, it was one man. One man against the Grigori, Eater, and the self proclaimed god Black Star who were all expecting him wouldn't stand a chance.

Or at least, that was the hope.

So much could go wrong, though, and the thought had Soul's stomach back in knots. But then, that's why he was here, wasn't it? It's not like he really gave a shit about the big picture-he was just here to keep Maka safe, and surely he could see to that much. Yet, as he perched alone on a building overlooking the warehouse park, the image of Maka's childhood friend on the phone, of the fear and anger on his face and in his voice, came to him unbidden. He shouldn't care, he really shouldn't, but he did anyway, and it was irritating. Since when did he care about anything but Maka? Then again-Maka cared, and maybe that was enough.

Whatever. He could keep her safe and get shit done. Fuck it.

He spotted movement where Black Star stood near a lamppost by one of the warehouses, leaned up against the wall casually, arms crossed over his chest. Soul could hear the assassin's faint breathing, his helmet broadcasting the sound from the man's small ear piece. Maka would be hearing the same thing in her own earpiece, perched on a different building across the park, waiting for the time to strike.

As a tall figure stepped into the lamplight, Soul knew that time was soon. The newcomer moved silently, yet his steps were casual, languid.

"You're one of the spider assholes?" he heard Star say in his ear, watched as he straightened in the distance to face the man.

"Something like that," the man said smoothly.

"Where's Tsu?" There was suspicion in Blake's voice, and Soul was pretty sure it wasn't all feigned inspite of the fact they had expected this. Actually, Soul was a little surprised the man was even bothering to show himself so brazenly and talk at all-they had figured he would simply attack, and were counting on Black Star's own skills to keep him alive long enough for them to intervene. The flak jacket he was wearing under his clothes probably wouldn't hurt, though Soul didn't really see a gun on the guy. Yet.

"She couldn't make it." The man sounded almost regretful, but of course, he must be reading something in his voice that wasn't there. "It's just you and me." Soul watched as the Arachnophobia agent pulled something long and slender from the odd case at his side-a sword. "I am sorry it's come to this, but we must all of us make our choices. Defend yourself."

Damn, this dude was announcing his intentions and giving his opponent a fighting chance. What the hell kind of assassin was he? Either he was cocky as fuck or stupid as fuck; probably both.

Black Star drew his own sword, a sinister looking black katana, and with a flash, the two master swordsmen began their waltz, the signal that Soul would soon need to intervene. It was mesmerizing, to watch them dance beneath the harsh electric light in the distance. His own fighting had always relied on his powers, on imperviousness and brute force. This was like watching poetry, like music writ large, the two skilled fighters weaving around and through each other. He couldn't tell if they managed to cut, but he suspected not-there was too much skill between them. Still, it was only a matter of time.

He heard Blake hiss in pain and knew he should act, willing himself up and forward, willing the Tech to hurl him into the fight. Soul flew high and fast, then hurtled down towards the fray, saw the Grigori streaking towards them from the other side. He stopped a bare dozen feet from the action and shot his anti gravity beam towards the the man fighting Black Star. This close up, Soul could see his long blonde hair, his passive concentration, his fluid motions. The assassin didn't even glance at his new attacker, yet somehow dodged the beam in the last second, shifting to the left even as he blocked an attack from Star. He failed to block the energy attack from Maka, however, hissing in pain himself and staggering backwards before whirling around to put Black Star between himself and the Grigori.

Then the Arachnophobia assassin's hand shot to his side, then swords began to fly, and all hell broke loose.

It was all Soul could do to dodge the swords flying towards him, whipping through the air at breakneck speed. He shot up out of the fray to catch his breath, watched Maka get nicked by a blade and then do the same, watched Star knock aside several blades only to be sliced in the arm by the one he couldn't block.

No wonder this asshole was their best assassin-he had just gone from a fluid fighter to a fucking whirlwind of multi bladed death. Fuck this. This had to end now.

Exchanging a glance with Maka, they both dove down fast, hurtling towards the tall instrument of death who continued to threaten Star. Maka shot energy again, which the assassin just managed to dodge, but Soul hurled his anti gravity beam and _that_ he couldn't quite dodge. Suddenly, he was trapped, Soul stopping his descent just shy of the ground and raising his captive above them, hopefully out of range. His case of swords seemed empty now, but he clutched one in his fist defiantly, his eyes narrowed towards the one who had managed to entrap him.

The man would be a fool to be rid of his last defense, but still, Soul was wary.

"Drop the weapon or I _will _smash your ass into the concrete," Eater growled out, his voice sounding far too calm filtered by the helmet. Soul could see the red soaking Maka's shoulder even from the distance, and his vision was going as red as her blood. He wanted to kill the fucker, choke him, maim him, hurl him against the pavement into a bloody pulp, a mangled mass of unrecognizable flesh. His fist clenched with the urge.

The Grigori flew over towards him and, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder and squeezing, looked up at their new captive. "No one is going to hurt you-you must know that's not what I do. If you drop your weapon and cooperate, I can ensure your safety."

"And who's going to ensure Angela's?" The man's voice was flat, defeated. Angela? What was this guy-

Maka took in a sharp breath next to him, her mind clearly working faster than his own. "They took someone you care for?" she asked. The man didn't answer, didn't drop his weapon, but he looked pained for the barest instant before his features smoothed.

"You can't help her if you're dead, moron." Black Star glared up at the man hovering above them within Soul's beam. "Drop the fucking sword, peasant, before I cut it out of your damned hand."

"Black Star!" the Grigori hissed, glaring his way before returning her eyes to the man above them. "Look, we can help you-but you have to cooperate, and that starts with dropping the sword. I promise you-whoever this Angela is, we'll do everything we can to make sure she's safe, but we can't do that if you keep fighting us. Please?" Her voice was so imploring, so raw and honest that Soul wanted to hold her. He could tell, could feel that she was reading something in this man that _hurt_ her. "Please," she added softly. "Let me help you."

And then the sword was on the ground with a clang. And then the man was letting himself be restrained. And then they were whisking him off to where Kid lay hidden. Soul wasn't sure if that had all been too easy or far too hard, but whichever the case, something in him bound up in Maka felt bruised and raw as he held her hand, as she watched the man they had captured with wide, sympathetic eyes.

* * *

The assassin betrayed no emotion as he sat at a metal table in a bare room, hands and legs cuffed to a metal chair, but he must have been a feeling _something_ for Maka to be so affected. Soul didn't have long to contemplate it as the door finally opened and Kid walked in, looking meticulous in his dark suit even with his oddly striped hair. He strode to the table, gazing down at the man who sat there calmly. To his own credit, the other man didn't gape, though the flash of shock on his face was unmistakable.

"Kyle Mortimer," he said flatly. "So it was all a set up. What could you hope to gain?"

Kid shrugged, straightened his black suit. "Truth."

The man smiled bitterly. "The truth is rarely what it seems, and even less often does it serve real purpose. What truth would you have of me, Deathbringer?"

The ADA ignored the underworld nickname, earned from too many cases won, too many hardened criminal sent to a life behind bars. "Your name would be a good start, I think," Kid offered casually, finally sliding out the chair opposite the other man and sitting down gracefully.

"Mifune," the man said, voice emotionless, and at that, even the unflappable Kid took in a sharp breath.

The ADA had clearly heard the name. Soul sure as fuck had. Mifune was legendary as muscle for hire, a man who it was rumored could get any job done without the mess of a kill. Word was he _wouldn't _kill. Yet here he was, executing people at Arachnophobia's whim.

This Angela must mean a lot to him-Arachnophobia clearly had a knack for exploiting weakness, for using people's affection to manipulate and control. For using the love that could be, _should be_ a strength against them. There was a time when he had feared exactly that, had feared to get close, to love, had feared the weakness of it, and he felt his anger rise that these assholes were making his oldest, darkest nightmares into truth. Soul suddenly wanted to tear the whole lot of them apart.

"I would say I'm surprised a man with your reputation would kill for Arachnophobia, but I've long since ceased to be shocked by the depths of human depravity," Kid said, his voice betraying as little emotion as the man before him.

Mifune let out a deep sigh, the first crack in his armor since they'd arrived. His eyes moved past Kid to settle on Maka. "You said you would help, Grigori. Was this a ploy, or did you mean it?"

"I meant it," she said quietly, and Kid turned to her sharply.

"You had no right, no authority to-"

"They've been using him, Mr. Mortimer, just as they used Blake." She turned to him, standing far taller than her five foot six inches should possibly allow. "They have someone he cares for. You said yourself how odd it is that the legendary Mifune should stoop so low."

Kid's own armor cracked then as he let out a breath and straightened his suit jacket methodically when there was nothing to straighten. "Right." His eyes were settled on a wall. "So. This gives us yet another hostage to worry about, and likely, no real-"

"What did you hope to gain by my capture?" Mifune spoke suddenly, his gaze settling on Kid, intense.

"Information about their operations, mostly. Perhaps an idea of where they might currently be holding some of their prisoners. I've been able to find out much, but not that. I had hoped a true insider might help me more, but you are in a similar position to Black Star."

"Then your aim is to rescue the ones they hold?" Mifune pushed.

"No-" Kid began, but this time Black Star, who had been almost eerily silent the whole time for a man who usually couldn't shut up, put in.

"Yes. We're gonna get Tsu back. Who's Angela?"

The man shifted his brown eyed gaze to Blake contemplatively before finally nodding slightly. "She's my daughter."

Oh. Oh _fuck._

"How-how old is she?" Maka asked softly, and Soul noticed the slightly defeated slump appear in their captives once rigid shoulders.

"She just turned eight a few weeks ago. I-missed her birthday."

Eater clenched his fist, gritted his teeth. Using a _child_? Fuckers. _Dirty mother fuckers_.

"We're gonna get her back, man. We're gonna get them all back." Black Star's voice was tight and low and Soul could hardly believe it was the same man who had screamed "Yahooo!" as he pummeled him at Halo.

"If you're serious, if you really want your friend back-if you really mean to help me-then you should do it tonight," Mifune said, looking around to each figure in the room before settling his eyes back on Kid.

"Tonight?" Kid furrowed his brow.

"Yes," Mifune said calmly. "Their quarterly gathering is this evening. Hundreds will arrive, robed, masked. It will be easy to slip in unnoticed. I have long thought to exploit such a gathering, but without knowing where they were keeping Angela at any given time, there was too much risk for myself alone, too much concern I would stumble and she would be harmed for the error, but with more-"

"No." Kid shook his head thoughtfully. "My contacts said nothing of this, this can't-"

"When did you last speak with them?" Mifune cut him off.

"Two days ago, but-"

"Members are informed only hours before the gatherings occur as a precaution. I only discovered it myself because one of the guards was an overloud fool," the man said, voice smooth. "If you truly are serious about retrieving hostages, tonight, _now_, is the time. The gathering has begun, but people will arrive at all hours. What time is it?"

"12:45," Kid said flatly.

"The official meeting will occur at 2. If we decide now, we can arrive just before when the crowds will be thickest, when security will be concentrated around the meeting itself, and strike. There are three locations where prisoners are regularly held within the complex; I've been able to discover this much in my months under their thumb." Kid nodded his agreement to what Soul could only assume were things he already was aware of as Mifune continued. "There are enough of us to hit them all simultaneously and flee. If your goal is truly freeing the prisoners, it can be accomplished. And if you are able to do that-I have gathered information that could be of use to you if you mean to pursue them in the courts, and I offer my testimony, provided you grant me immunity."

Kid seemed to consider this, and Soul was torn as the seconds stretched. What this man had spoken of was fucking suicide, and no way did he want Maka anywhere near that shitstorm, but the thought of a child so small, so fragile in their clutches tore at his heart. Maka would never stay away, no matter what Kid decided. Better for him to agree, to offer support.

After a bare half a minute that felt far longer, Kyle Mortimer stood tall, looked down at the assassin Mifune, and nodded gravely. "Alright. We will need to firm up the plan, and quickly, but I believe I can provide the support you need."

And that was that. Tonight, they would infiltrate Arachnophobia. As the plans commenced, as the impossibility of the task they faced settled in his bones, Soul thought longingly of strawberry crepes and wished he could have stayed in that morning forever.


	6. Shitstorm

Between what Mifune knew and what Kid's contacts had shared with him, it wasn't a terrible plan, as suicidal plans went. Kid had scrounged up robes and masks, they had a map of the complex that, while not complete, was hopefully reliable, and the ADA had been able to convince his mystery contacts to help. They were taking a huge chance-trusting Mifune, trusting these spies, infiltrating the most dangerous organization to ever inhabit Death City, but if the others had second thoughts, they remained unspoken. Kid was on the sidelines, Mifune grimly determined, Black Star downright enthusiastic, and Maka unflappable. It was Soul alone who was brooding, his seemingly fixed scowl of displeasure hidden beneath the red demon mask he now wore. Maka had chosen an angel mask, and he found that absolutely fitting.

They were just outside the complex, a massive building that fronted a shipping operation, waiting to meet Kid's insiders. Two more people Soul didn't know. Two more people who might royally fuck them over. It was past 1:30 now. They'd better hurry or they were going to miss their golden fucking chance. Not a minute later, as his nerves were beginning to settle into his gut in a sickening ball, two figures emerged from the shadows.

"The symmetry of your mask is perfect," a moderately tall figure said in a low woman's timbre, sounding bored.

"But not as perfect as the number eight," Maka recited from under her angel mask.

"Ah, sis, it's them!" the shorter figure said happily, throwing off her own mask with speckled giraffe-like markings and throwing back the hood for good measure. Underneath was a perky looking blonde girl with bright blue eyes who appeared to be no older than 18. Soul thought she looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place why for the life of him. "Kiddo said you guys-"

"Patti," the taller girl hissed from behind her own classic tragedy mask. "Put that back on!"

"Aw, sis, if Kiddo says we can trust them-"

"No-now put the mask back on!"

Patti's shoulders slumped as she picked up and replaced the mask. "At least introduce yourself-it's only polite."

The taller woman shook her head and sighed almost fondly, then turned her attention back to the group. "Fine, I'm Liz. Who the hell are all of you?" She cocked one hand on a hip, an absurd gesture over the voluminous black robe.

They each offered their names, Soul and Maka as Eater and the Grigori beneath their devil and angel masks, and Star and Mifune as themselves behind a gold mask for the first and an angry red and white samurai mask for the second. The whole exchange had Soul feeling twitchy; they had so little time to waste.

"Anyway," Liz said, "We don't really have time to dawdle. We need to split into three groups, so since Mifune, Patti, and I know our way around, we'll each lead-"

"No," Soul interrupted quickly, feeling naked without the helmet even behind the mask-but he couldn't wear it and maintain the disguise. "The Grigori and I stay together."

"Your funeral." The woman half shrugged.

"We've seen the maps. We'll figure it out," Maka put in, and Soul couldn't help it, he was so grateful she'd agreed, even backed up staying with him, that he grabbed her hand and squeezed. That she squeezed back made the darkness seem just a little bit lighter around them.

"Suit yourselves," Liz said boredly. "Patti and I will go together then, and Mifune-"

"I'll go with you," Mifune interrupted.

"Why?" The suspicion in the tall woman's voice was palpable.

"Because while Mortimer might trust you, I _don't._ I won't risk Angela. I'd rather both of you were paired with one of us."

Liz remained silent, pulling at her robe sleeve without answering, before Patti tugged on her arm.

"Sis, you should do what he asks. They're the ones who have someone to lose."

"I have you to lose," Liz snapped.

"I'll be fine, sis! You know I can handle myself!" Patti said brightly.

"Patti, _no_. They can trust us or get the fuck out, but I'm not gonna-"

"But sis! You were willing to separate us before the other two decided to go it alone! Don't you _trust _me?" Her voice was imploring, earnest, like a child trying to wheedle a sweet from her mother, and Soul could practically hear the big round puppy dog eyes manifest in her voice. Apparently, it was a ploy that she knew would work, because Liz's shoulders slumped in defeat.

After another deep sigh, Liz said, "Fine, but only because I know you won't listen anyway and we really don't have time for this shit, and you better watch yourself, you got me?"

"Always do, sis!" the shorter girl said with a little laugh, and seeing them interact, the familiarity tickled at him again, though he still couldn't place it.

Then they were working out which pair would handle which potential holding place, the best routes to take, and a final meeting point. Maka distributed earpieces provided by Kid to the two who lacked them, and soon enough, they were moving through the gates into the building.

It was 1:45, cutting it close, but then, they needed to time their movement on top of the meeting if they were to have any chance. Get in, get out, that was the plan. It was a hell of a weak plan, really, but it was what they had to work with.

* * *

Five minutes later, they were wading through the press of humanity moving about the building. The place appeared to be a massive square structure from outside, industrial, nearly windowless; inside it was a maze. A portion was clearly sectioned off for the legitimate shipping front, but the rest was as convoluted as a spider's web, with countless paths and spaces, and while there was clearly a pattern, it was impossible to discern from within its clutches.

They carefully avoided the main meeting spot while trying to appear to be moving towards it, threading their way among the outer hallways, the other pairs splitting off in silence when they reached the fork that would take them towards the portion of the place they were supposed to scout, until Maka and Soul were left alone in the crowd.

As they moved through the throng, passing people as they went, one large man in a wolf mask stopped them with a guffaw. "Angel and demon? Because that's not the oldest cliche in the book," he said before moving the other way. It was a near thing-when the man had first grabbed his arm, Soul thought they'd been made and had been a hairsbreadth from attacking. He breathed a sigh of relief as they rounded a corner and reached a quiet, unoccupied hallway, smaller than those they had travelled to this point. They were getting closer.

The sections where Arachnophobia kept prisoners were all deep down convoluted pathways, and the path to their own destination led to a small space near the heart of the lion's den, as it were. It was marked 'storage', but Mifune had discovered otherwise when he last saw Angela, last requested a visitation.

Soul hoped it held no prisoners, hoped it would be the others who found the captives, because he just wanted to get the fuck out of there. He was exhausted again and felt vulnerable, exposed so deep into enemy territory, so far behind enemy lines, especially with so _many_ of them gathered here now. Those numbers were the point, that relative anonymity, even if it made his skin crawl to be so utterly outnumbered.

They were close now, so close, and the updates on his earpiece told him the others were approaching their own target areas in turn. Another bend and they should reach a hallway with two doors, the left one the room they sought.

When they reached the hallway, also empty, he felt relief wash through him. Soul had expected some sort of guard detail if there were captives here, but they were met with no one, and he thought it likely that they would find no prisoners.

Then, a cacophony erupted suddenly in his earpiece, and Soul couldn't help but to stiffen.

"What's this now, peasants?" he heard Blake bellow in his ear, either having clicked on his own earpiece, or perhaps not having clicked it off after the last declaration of being near the target. "You dare to threaten the great Black Star?"

"Halt and drop your weapons, now!" an unfamiliar voice bellowed, and Black Star's only answer was a maniacal laugh, followed by similarly eerie giggles from Patti. Well, hell, this wasn't going well at all. They needed to hurry.

"Patti! They seem hell bent on keeping that big contraption safe-what say we spoil their little show with our own star appearance?"

"No, you two, stick to the plan-_stick to the_-" Liz's voice cut in, clearly panicked.

"Fuck yeah!" Patti yelled out, and then all Soul could hear was the clang, shouts, and scuffle of fighting.

Yeah, they definitely needed to hurry. He clicked off his earpiece, unable to take the sheer noise, and glanced at Maka, who had similarly paused, had similarly touched her head under her robe.

"We need to get out of here-let's check the damned room and leave," he said, working to keep his voice calm because this was _not good_.

"Which room?" Maka asked, voice strained.

"What do you-"

"_Which room_-because the map showed two doors in this corridor, and we're supposed to be looking in the right one, but there are three…"

"Shit," Soul swore, because she was right. Had they taken a wrong turn or…? "This the right hall?"

"I'm pretty sure," she said with a sigh. "We were careful." At least it remained empty. He supposed it could have been worse.

"Well, _someone_ fucked up the map then." His voice showed his irritation. What a mess.

"I guess we check the door in the middle first?" Maka said, hesitant. "It would be to the right of the left door, and if that isn't it, we can always check the far right door."

"Yeah, _whatever_, better check something before this all goes to shit," he snapped, though none of his irritation was for her, so it was undeserved. He strode forward to throw open the middle door and step into a too dark room, Maka close on his heels. He couldn't see a thing, and neither could she, though her ability to sense souls would tell her if there were people.

"Anyone?"

"No," she said quietly as they stepped a few more feet in. "No one, it must be the wrong room, or they're keeping them somewhere else. Let's-"

And then there was a crash behind them and the room went pitch black, not even the light from the hall reaching them. And then it went bright, and Soul had to blink back tears of pain from his eyes. "Shit!" he swore again, prepared for anything.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw the room was tacky, black velvet on the walls, red upholstered couches against them, red and black tile, and a raised lacquer dais where an ornate chair of dark wood and red velvet sat looking like nothing so much as a throne. Standing at the edge of the dais was a tall woman, pale, with hair so dark it might have rivaled the pitchest night, and odd, wide, violet eyes. Her features were elegant, aristocratic even, and her face held an expression that could be termed nothing short of serene. She strode languidly to the chair and sat, arranging her tight, elegant black dress about her before her gaze was leveled on the two intruders.

"You don't belong here," she said evenly, her voice soft, rich, dangerous. "I know every mask my people wear-but I have never seen either of _yours_. Who are you?"

"Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, at your service," Soul answered sardonically. "Who the hell are you?"

"Ah, you fancy yourself humorous. How droll. I am the Lady Arachne, and this is _my_ web you have stumbled into so very willingly. I will repeat only once before you will be beyond answering-you must see any exit has been denied you-who are you?"

Soul glanced back, saw the reinforced steel where the door had been, and cursed. Loudly.

For her part, Maka simply removed her angel mask and robe, letting them fall to the floor without care, revealing herself as the Grigori beneath. Soul followed suit, his red spandex the only thing under the robes because his clothes had been too bulky. He'd also donned a black eye mask to at least give him some anonymity if it came down to it. He'd hoped it wouldn't. And yet, here he was, feeling wholly exposed in too tight shiny red fabric. Fucking Lightning Assholes.

"You really think it'll be that easy?" Maka said with a slight tilt to the head.

"Ah, the Grigori!" the woman said, sounding far too pleased, "or should I say the Meister?" Maka must have made some sort of face because the one the woman in front of them waved one hand dismissively. "Yes, yes I am quite aware of who you were. Or did you think no one would notice you both sported the same powers? That a mere outfit change could deceive all of us? Come now, not _everyone_ in the city is a fool."

Soul felt sick because it had, indeed, seemed to fool everyone. Everyone but this woman.

"And who is your little friend?" The woman turned her eerie lilac gaze his way, and even from ten feet away, he could tell it was calculating. "Hmmm... White hair and red eyes, how very unusual."

"Fuck off," Soul growled.

"Ah, and sharp teeth, too! Interesting. A little bird once told me those were the very same features that the Weapon had in his human form, but surely you can't be _him_. After all, rumor speculates that _he_ was killed by the Meister three years ago quite brutally. They say she was expelled from the League for using excessive force-and yet-" A soft, knowing smile graced her features "-here she stands before me, clearly with League sanction." The woman tapped her chin, as if puzzled. "I wonder how that is. Unless…" she trailed off for a moment, then snapped the fingers of her left hand. "Rumor was wrong."

A wicked smile spread across her china doll features, and Soul felt his heart freeze in his chest. "So, Weapon, it looks like her feminine charms proved too much to resist in the end. You are only a _man_, after all. Though I must say," she paused to look the Grigori up and down, "she is a bit lacking in certain _assets_. Well, I suppose she must make up for it in other ways." She offered a small shrug.

Soul felt fear and anger bubble up, his fists clenching at his sides. He didn't give a shit about her stupid taunts-who the fuck _cared_ what she thought about him or Maka-but this bitch _knew_. She knew what the Weapon looked like, she knew it was _him_. And now, she knew he had ties with the Grigori. She could find them-she could hurt them, _hurt Maka_.

She needed to fucking die. _Now_.

Why were they listening to her drone on? They should just attack and-

"Shut up and fight if that's your purpose-If not, let us go." Maka gritted out suddenly, but Arachne ignored the outburst, continuing on as if she'd never spoken.

"But _you._" Her gaze stayed on the Grigori. "Sleeping with the enemy, with _the Weapon_ of all people. I never thought the Meister would stoop so low-he must be more talented than anyone could have guessed." Her laugh was light and false. "Quite the pair the two of you make. I'm going to enjoy this, I think."

Soul was tired of waiting, but he knew they weren't _supposed _to attack first-stupid fucking hero bullshit. He felt a hand brush his arm. "Something-isn't right," Maka said quietly. "There's-she has _two souls. _I don't-" She shook her head, confused.

"Oh, you can see that, can you?" Arachne raised an eyebrow, amused. "Simply delightful! I am _so_ going to enjoy your abilities! Crona!" she commanded, and Soul had no clue what was going on, but a chill of fear went up his spine at her tone.

Suddenly, Arachne raised one hand, palm outstretched, and dark ichor shot from her, slowly forming into a-a person. An odd person, with choppy lavender hair, wearing a long, tight black robe. Or dress, maybe. "Y-yes, Lady Arachne," the figure stammered out, looking nervous, frightened even. The voice was neither low nor high, and Soul honestly couldn't tell if they faced a man or a woman. After seeing the thing form from black ooze, he wasn't even convinced that what they faced was human.

"I need you to take them down, my love, but _do_ try not to kill them-I have use for them both." Her voice was so nonchalant, so casual, that Soul didn't just want to kill her soundly, he wanted to make her _bleed_ for underestimating them so thoroughly, and vowed that he would do just that, hero protocol be damned.

"Y-yes, Lady Arachne," the figure, Crona, stammered again, and then, before he could blink, the thing was black ooze again and, impossibly, hurtling towards them in sharp spikes. Soul felt something warm barrel into him and went crashing to the ground-Maka had shoved them both aside. He sprang to his feet as she scrambled off and away, whirling around to face the middle of the room.

"I'll handle this," Maka said, voice low. "You deal with Arachne-see if you can get whatever device she used to seal the door."

He grunted his acknowledgement, even as the black ichor formed into a figure once more a few feet ahead of them.

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that, you-sh-shouldn't have done that at all," they said sadly. "You shouldn't struggle. It will only m-make things worse, you know? My-my blood used to be black, not red, but black. But th-then I tried to struggle, and now I _am_ the blood." The figure's grin became crazed as it dissolved again and Soul tried to shoot his beam at it, only to miss.

Maka shoved him to the side for a second time, hissing as she got up off of him, "Soul-Arachne-_now_!"

"Fuck," was his only response, but he charged towards the woman sitting placidly in the chair. He had to trust Maka if they were going to survive this, had to trust her even if his every instinct screamed to _stay close and protect her. _ He shot his anti gravity beam towards the woman in the chair, but she merely stuck a casual hand up and an invisible _something_ had it go askew, hitting the wall next to her. Growling his frustration, he tried again, but she only repeated the move before shooting a column of flame his way. He dodged it, but not completely, and yelped as it caught his shoulder, white hot and scalding, the pain intense.

"Tsk, tsk." She smiled languidly his way, never moving from her chair. "I expected better of the Weapon than parlor tricks. Perhaps if I break your little toy you'll put on a better show?"

Before he could catch her meaning, another plume of fire shot out, and as he dodged it, the second one blasted into his arm cuff, melting the electronics and rendering it useless. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_-it took all the components to make the suit work. It was useless now-completely fucking useless, and somehow, she had known that it would be.

Who the fuck _was_ this woman?

_What the fuck was he going to do_? He was useless now, too.

_Not useless_, he heard a voice at the back of his mind whisper, some deep dark part of him he had long since tried to bury. _You are the Weapon still. You can fight-win-__**destroy**__._

No-no he couldn't. Not unless there was no other way. He'd made a promise to Maka. She was strong, she was smart, she was _lethal_; she would find a way.

He sprinted to the other side of Maka's battle with the ichor blob, watched as she blasted it with energy and dodged it almost effortlessly. Yet, she was talking to it, too, trying to reason with it. As if such a thing could be _reasoned_ with.

"I know you don't want to do this, Crona. I _know_ you don't. You have a choice. You don't have to listen to her-_you have a choice!_"

"N-no, I don't!" The figure who formed from the ichor screamed. "I'm _her blood_, only her blood, I h-have to-!"

"But you _don't_, don't you see?" Maka panted, dodging the spike of black that Crona shot out at her. Daringly, she stepped closer. "You don't. Just-stop, okay? Stop, and we can help you. Just-"

"Crona, _now._" Arachne's cold voice cut through the din. And for a moment, Crona did nothing but look pained. Maka looked pleading, far too unguarded.

Soul didn't even know what he was going to do before he did it. He saw the thing begin to dissolve again and hurtled forward, willing his body to morph, to change, as he leapt in front of the Grigori, the hardened black ooze bashing harmlessly into his metallic form.

"You will _never _touch her," Soul snarled as he crouched defensively, the Weapon once more, shining and metallic and utterly deadly as a scythe blade sprouted from his arm.

The ichor reformed into Crona several feet away, and he heard a voice to his side whisper, "Soul?" There was surprise, hurt. "Soul-when, why…?"

Almost worse than the sound of utter betrayal in her voice was that she was no longer behind him. _She had dodged._ Of course she had dodged. He had revealed himself, hurt her, for nothing.

"Maka, I-" he stammered.

Then there was clapping from across the room, slow and loud, followed by a tinkling little laugh. "Oh, bravo! Quite the show you two put on-absolutely marvelous!"

"Not _now_," Maka snapped, ignoring Arachne as Soul turned around and reached for her, eyes pleading. "Forget it, just-" she turned her eyes to the dais. "-I'll deal with Arachne myself!" she said, voice suddenly devoid of the hurt, low and angry. "We can talk about this _later_."

And then she was gone from his reach, screaming towards Arachne with everything she was, energy flying.

"Sh-she's really angry, isn't she?" he heard Crona say, far too close. They had moved a bare few feet away while Soul was distracted. He scrambled back and raised his blade.

"Yeah," he answered. "Not that it's any of your damned business."

"Y-you should t-try to talk to her if y-you hurt her feelings, you know?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. Not that I get why you care so much when you're trying to fucking kill us." As he spoke, the poor kid suddenly looked so despondent that Soul almost felt sorry for them. Almost. They didn't seem to want to be here anymore than he did. But they had been trying to hurt Maka, and _that_ was inexcusable.

"It's n-not like I w-want to. I d-don't have a choice, don't you g-get it?" They sounded sad again,and Soul could only glare because that was just an excuse; he knew that better than anyone.

"There's _always_ a fucking choice. Maybe not an easy one, but there is _always a god damned choice._ If your choice is to keep trying to kill us, then bring it on, mother fucker, 'cause I need your skinny ass out of my way to help the Grigori."

"R-right," Crona said, looking unsure. A line of black came from their hand, forming into a lethal looking sword, and they lunged fast and hard. Soul had to block quickly with his bladed forearm before dancing back. Suddenly, the realization that the metal man and the puddle of ooze in a hand to hand fight was a recipe for _never gonna fucking end_ dawned on him, so he put some distance between them to glance Maka's way. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she was locked in a similar dance with Arachne, her distance attacks pitted against those of the tall, elegant woman.

It wouldn't last, though. Maka had enhanced strength and speed that was lethal in a hand to hand fight-it was only a matter of time before-

Crona lunged at Soul again, and he barely managed to get a blade up to block-although his metallic form wasn't much susceptible to the attacks of this thing so far, he didn't want to chance that they could some how really hurt him.

Dancing back, moving his head towards Maka, he heard a surprised yelp. When his eyes found her, he saw her wrist grasped by Arachne even as her other fist was in the woman's stomach, saw a pained, triumphant smile grace the features of the woman in black as Maka scrambled back and away, her own face a mask of shock.

"I-can't-what-_what did you do to me_?" she gasped.

The pained smile faded from the other woman's face, leaving only a triumphant smirk. "Why, my _dear _Maka, I merely touched you. And if it took your powers and your memories for a time, well, _that_ can hardly be helped, can it?"

Soul had heard enough. Ignoring Crona's lunge, he rushed to Maka, putting himself between her and Arachne, eyes narrowed towards her with a snarl.

The woman they faced took them both in and laughed.

"Ah, Soul," Arachne said as she sauntered closer. "Haven't been taking your pills, I see. Maka is _most _disappointed in you. Breaking your promise like that. Inexcusable, really; you ought to be ashamed of yourself. She's sacrificed so much for you, you know, and yet you _just keep disappointing her._ Rather sad, I think, that such a pure heart would end up falling for a bastard like the Weapon, but I suppose that it's the pure hearts who suffer most in this world, don't you?"

"Stop talking like you know anything about it, anything about _us_," he said lowly.

"Oh, but Soul, _love_, I know _everything _about you now. I know how you rub her feet when she gets home from work, run her bath and massage her aching shoulders. I know how she claws your back and screams your name when you fuck her, how much you enjoy tasting her and how much she _wants_ you to. I know how she burnt through your very flesh and bone, nearly killing you, maiming you for life, and how much the guilt of that eats away at her, how she still cries over it when you won't see." She eyed the scar that showed up on his metallic body even now, running diagonally from shoulder to hip, with a smirk. "I know how she pleaded with her father and then the entire League of Heroes for your life, begging them to keep you out of jail. I know how much she loves you even now, how she risked everything for you, and how you couldn't even keep one silly little promise. How could you possibly hope to deserve her?"

"Shu_t up!_" he yelled, because it was true, and because it _hurt_, and because it was private, and because this monster shouldn't to be anywhere near Maka's precious memories. "_I'll fucking kill you!_"

"Soul," Maka said quietly from behind him, her hand touching his shoulder lightly. "She just wants to get to you. Don't let her. Just. Don't."

"Maka," he said softly, feeling unworthy of even uttering her sacred name. "I'm-"

"Later, Soul." She squeezed his shoulder, voice tight. "We can talk later. For now?" Her voice raised into a battle cry. "Kick her fucking _ass_!"

Arachne was right. He didn't deserve her. But he wasn't going to let her down again, either.

"Get back," he said to Maka. "I need us both to live through this to make it right so just-stay back and stay alive. I love you too much to lose you, not like this."

"I love you too, even when I'm mad at you, so you'd better end this soon, because I have a thing or two to say to you, Soul Evans, and you are _going _to hear it." As he felt the soft kiss against the back of his metallic neck, he couldn't help his little smile in spite of the turmoil, in spite of the self loathing, in spite of everything.

"Looking forward to it," he replied, voice as soft as that little kiss, and then she was gone, a streak of green jumping up the dais and ducking behind the large throne-like chair in the center.

Soul risked a glance to pinpoint the forgotten enemy, but Crona stood back and away, seemingly mesmerized by the entire scene, jaw very slightly slack, eyes wide. Since they didn't seem to be going anywhere for the moment, his eyes snapped back to Arachne and he charged.

And Arachne sprouted wings of light, Maka's lovely wings, and _flew._

Fuck. _Fuck._ It was like fighting the Meister all over again.

She hovered over him, smiling down with something like triumph. "That was so heart achingly sweet, quite touching, really. Too bad you don't stand a chance," she said lightly. And then Maka's superheated energy attack, the one that had nearly killed him, was hurtling toward him, and he was dodging to the side, barely missing it. Fucking hell, he had to get her out of the air. He ran to one of the chairs against the wall and grabbed it by the leg, throwing it her way, then ran to another, and yet another, using his heightened strength to make the airspace in the room dangerous with flying furniture while narrowly dodging her energy attacks.

It wasn't working-he was just buying time, he damned well knew as she laughed at his plight, easily hovering near the ceiling. But it wasn't as if the ceiling were limitless and Soul could _jump._

Yes-yes, that just might work.

She caught his arm with a new attack, just below his already injured shoulder, and he yelped, the pain intense, but still, he ran and saw her eyes widen as at the last minute he _jumped _and his scythe blade sliced her leg, black blood running down to the ground in a thick ribbon.

At least he'd made her bleed like he promised.

Arachne screamed, and as her concentration broke, she fell to the ground in a heap. Yet, before he could make a second move, she scrambled back, struggling to her feet. Soul expected her to shriek and rage, but while her face was a mask of intense anger, her voice was soft as she said.

"_You are a dead man_-but not before you watch _her _die." She held out an arm, extended it towards the chair, and before Soul could even think to act, the light energy that belonged to the Meister, to the Grigori, to _Maka_, streaked out and exploded. Maka managed to roll away, but not without getting caught in the edge of the blast, yelling out in pain. She stood up shakily, weakly, her very _human_ body clearly singed. Arachne aimed another blast and Soul screamed, racing to intercept, but he wouldn't get there in time and Maka wasn't fast enough, couldn't dodge, and was hit square in the side. She yelped again in pain then crumpled, Soul huddling over her in anguish.

"Maka, god Maka, please be okay-" He couldn't cry, not in this form, but he felt the lump in his throat, the terror.

"Soul." She looked up at him weakly. "I'm okay," she croaked out. "But you have to-"

Another blast of energy screamed towards them and Soul couldn't move Maka in time and he couldn't let it hit her, so he leapt forward and took it; searing pain exploded in his gut and he bellowed in pain.

He collapsed to his knees in front of her even as she shrieked his name, watched Arachne hold out a hand-and then curse as nothing happened.

"Blast it!" the spider woman said loudly, even as he felt Maka come up beside him, felt her put an arm around him to support him.

"Maka," he croaked.

"My powers-are back-" she gasped out in return.

"Crona!" Arachne snapped, uncaring, cruel. "Don't just stand there like a useless moron-I need you to return to me-finish them."

"But-" Crona said. Soul tore his eyes from Maka's weak gaze for a moment to flick it towards the odd creature that had come from Arachne, watched as they staggered in the direction of the dais, a dozen feet away and clearly upset.

They were coming. Maka was wrecked, he was wrecked, and now they would face Crona again, face whatever other powers Arachne could hurl at them.

They were going to fucking die. _They were going to fucking die._ In the end, after everything, after how hard he had tried to keep her safe, keep her whole, he had failed her.

"But-L-Lady Arachne. They-they're-"

"I won't repeat myself, Crona. Finish them. Finish them _now_," she hissed.

"But-they're n-nice, they c-care about each other, I-" Crona stammered again, and Soul leaned further into Maka. When Crona finally acted, finally obeyed, maybe he could-get in front. He had barely managed to hold his metallic form through the intense pain, but it might be enough. He would protect her. He couldn't give up.

Then Maka surprised him by shooting an unexpected energy beam straight for Arachne. It surprised the other woman, too, because she didn't even attempt to dodge and it hit her square in the chest.

Arachne shrieked in pain and held out her hands to hurl her own attack, another column of flame. Soul pushed Maka behind, heard Crona and Maka scream "No!" at the same time, and then there were dark spikes streaking towards Arachne, and then the flame was hitting them and Soul was screaming in pain at the heat of it, registering Maka's own screams behind him, and then Arachne's screams were mixing with their own, a wail so piercing and raw that it shook his very soul.

When the fire was gone, his hold on his form dissolved, his human form burned, battered, utterly spent as he blinked at where Arachne had stood, where she now lay on the ground in a puddle of inky black, unmoving.

"Is she-" Soul couldn't help but to gasp out, and he heard Maka croak out from behind him in something that sounded suspiciously like despair.

"They're gone-they're both _gone_-" And then she was collapsing against his back. He felt his head go light, felt his vision fade just as he heard a now familiar voice bellow out from somewhere nearby, "There you two are! You shouldn't keep your god waiting!" before he knew no more.

Somehow, someway, they had both survived the shitstorm.


	7. Indecent Proposal

He had a definite sense of déjà vu as he awoke to throbbing pain and the smell of antiseptic. His whole body _hurt,_ and his mind felt hazy and stuffed with cotton. Soul might have wondered if this was a dream, a memory of three years ago, only the pain in his gut and his memories of their fight with Crona and Arachne were far too acute, too real to mistake where he was and why. And unlike three years ago, there was no warm soft hand clutching his, no concerned green eyes hovering near. There was no Maka.

_There was no Maka._

Panic seized him, clawing at his soul as he bolted up to look around frantically, his head swimming at the sudden move.

His heart raced, the monitor attached to him going haywire until his eyes fell on the medical bed next to him, fell on a spread of ash blond hair on the pillow beneath a battered, achingly familiar face sleeping peacefully, and he collapsed back onto his own pillow, sighing with relief.

"You know, if you do that, you're going to bring half the world in here, and personally, I'd prefer not to deal with a crowd just because you can't handle thirty seconds without your girl," a droll voice spoke from across the room, and Soul turned his head to see a figure he hadn't noticed before. A vaguely familiar figure, tall, with hair in a spiky ponytail, and wearing dark glasses.

What the fuck was _this _asshole doing in his hospital room?

"You should talk," Soul grunted, and his voice was shockingly hoarse. "Didn't think you went anywhere without your lover. Thought the two of you were sewn together at the fucking dick."

Harvar snorted. "Ox is busy, and believe it or not, being friends and colleagues doesn't actually require our dicks to be sewn together, though Stein might enjoy the challenge."

"What're you here for, anyway? Don't you have test subjects to torment?"

A half shrug and a held out hand, as electricity sparked between the other man's fingers. "Babysitting. Higher ups seem to think the Weapon isn't trustworthy. Can't imagine why."

Soul rolled his eyes. "Whatever." His ire couldn't last, though, as Maka stayed still in the other bed. "Hey," he said just loudly enough for the other man to hear. "She gonna be okay?"

He never got his answer as the door suddenly burst open and two women bustled into the room. "I got a signal the alarm went off, which-" The shorter one, with bubblegum pink hair of all things, looked around quickly, her eyes settling on Soul for a few moments before they shifted to Harvar, seated placidly in an ugly green office chair near the door. "I _though_t I told you to inform me the moment either of them woke up."

Harvar shrugged, seemed to be looking past the woman standing near him to settle his gaze on Soul, though it wasn't quite clear through his perpetually dark glasses. "Told you," he sighed before turning his gaze to the woman before him. "I was getting around to it. I'm gonna take a break." He stood, nodded towards the taller woman with dark hair who stood quietly near her companion. "Jaq can handle it if he makes trouble, but I seriously doubt he will. He's not gonna do shit with his girl next to him." With that, the man shoved his hands in his pockets and slunk out the door, leaving Soul with the two women.

The shorter woman bustled over to him, looking him up and down for a moment with calculating blue-green eyes. "You woke up far before I expected. You must be pretty resilient. Of course, last time, it took a lot longer."

"Last… time?" He was sure he looked confused, because he'd never seen this woman before.

"When you nearly got burned in half by your girlfriend?" She raised her eyebrows as she looked down at him.

"Oh, yeah-" he groaned, looking sheepish because he didn't remember her, didn't really remember anything before he'd been moved to the hospital, though Maka had told him he'd first spent time at the lab, and Ox and Harvar and Stein had all confirmed it with their shit talk.

"Annnnyway," the woman said, her mouth flattening, her manner suddenly no nonsense. "We should really have a look at you, see how your healing is progressing. That was quite the blow you took to the lower abdomen-not as bad as what the Meister did, mind, so I'm pretty sure I can avoid scarring this time, but you're one hearty guy." She peeled his blanket back as she talked, and he forced himself not to stop her as she began to poke at him in a way that seemed random and even haphazard to his untrained eye. Behind her, the tall brunette remained standing, hands stiffly at her sides, observing.

Then the woman examining him lifted his hospital johnny and he yelped out "Hey!" and pushed it down. She rolled her eyes. "Don't be a baby-I need to have a look. Not like I haven't seen it, and it's not like it's anything special to look at. I've seen better."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Soul rolled his own eyes but removed his hand. Fuck, he hated doctors, hospitals, nurses-strangers touching and poking and prodding him in general. She pulled the hideous lime green johnny up to his neck, but left the blanket mercifully resting at his hips, just above the point where he might be fully exposed to the world.

"Actually." She frowned as she touched his abdomen tentatively, her eyes sweeping over his torso to land just beside his neck. "I need you to take it off. I forgot about that shoulder. Can you manage or should I-"

"Yeah, whatever, I got it," he snapped and sat up, trying and failing to suppress a grimace of pain at the movement. The dark haired woman glided over at this and when her hands drifted behind him he glared at her, but she shrugged slightly.

"You'll need it untied, unless you care to reach behind you. I do _not _recommend this."

Soul only shrugged his good shoulder in response and she reached back and untied his gown in one deft motion. He pulled it back from his shoulders and tossed it at her haphazardly, but if she was bothered, she didn't react.

"You know." The other woman raised one odd pink eyebrow. "You could show a bit more gratitude to the people who helped saved your life."

He felt a little bad at that, if only just a little. And then he realized that they had probably saved Maka's life as well, and the remorse was real.

"Yeah, uh, thanks," he said, sheepish again, eyes looking past her to the blank wall.

"Mmmm," she hummed her response as her deft hands explored his abdomen again. And then she placed them flat on his gut, lightly, and he felt _warm._

"What the-?" he exclaimed, surprised by the soft light coming from her hands, by her look of utter concentration, by the warmth and complete _peace_ washing through him in waves.

"Shh-she's helping you. Kim's a healer. Be grateful-she normally doesn't waste her talents on villains."

Soul didn't bother to answer, though he did let her work. When she removed her hands, his abdomen still _hurt_, but the hurt was less, and he felt less tired. Then she moved her hands to his shoulder and repeated the action. As she worked, eyes closed in concentration this time, his own eyes moved to the woman with her. "So, um-how's Maka? I-I mean she-" Because she had gotten hurt, badly, and while she was clearly alive, he wanted, no, _needed t_o know she was going to be okay in the end.

"She took some hard blows, got pretty singed," the tall brunette said with a flick of her eyes to the other bed. "But she's fine. Her body just needs time to recuperate. Stein and Kim both think she'll wake up soon." She paused and pursed her lips. "Though what that means for _you." _She looked his way pointedly. "Is difficult to say."

Soul sighed. "Yeah, I know she's pissed."

The woman just nodded, and Kim removed her hands, inspecting where she'd just been healing him. Satisfied, she gave her own little nod before turning her eyes to her companion.

"You really should spare him the gory details-he'll be dealing with it all soon enough, Jackie. Last thing I need is for him to end up with heart failure from pure anxiety."

"What are you-" he asked, confused, heart suddenly racing in panic.

He saw the tall woman, Jackie apparently, roll her eyes at her fellow. "Oh, like _that_ didn't just cause him anxiety." She stepped closer, looked down at him. "Calm down. You're fine, she's fine, and no sense worrying over anything else. You need to rest to heal, and this won't help."

"What-what happened?" he forced out, trying to will his racing heart to calm. Had Maka been awake? What had she said? Or was there more. Oh fuck-_what was the League going to do_? He had nearly forgotten that part, his brain was so bleary.

Jackie sighed, exchanging a silent glance with her companion that ended with a little shrug. "When they brought you both in, the Grigori was conscious. Delirious, but conscious. She babbled a lot about what had happened before we were forced to medically induce a coma so that she could calm down and heal-apparently, Arachne's touch is difficult on both body and mind in the best circumstances, and Maka was very injured. When she spoke, her fear for you was primary, but she was also pretty angry with you. You can hardly blame her-she put a lot on the line to keep you out of trouble, and in the end, you didn't keep your promise."

God damnit, did _everyone_ know their fucking life story?

"Oh, I don't know, Jackie," Kim said casually, grinning down at him. "I think what he did was really romantic. Stupid, yeah, but romantic. I mean, to throw himself in front of her like that, not once but _twice_?" she sighed almost longingly.

Ignoring her lovesick schoolgirl look, he shook his head. "How the fuck do you people _know_ all this?" he growled.

"Oh, that." Kim shrugged. "Once you all were out, between victims to testify, his own contacts, and Mifune, Mortimer had enough to get a warrant to search the place. The room you two stumbled into was the leader's private audience chamber, and there were cameras _everywhere._ It's all on tape if you're ever curious. It really was quite the show."

Soul groaned. So all of that-their entire ordeal-was evidence open to the viewing pleasure of every League asshole? Wait-_evidence_-and they had used names… He went pale, felt sick. "How many people saw-I mean-where?"

"Oh, don't worry." Kim waved a dismissive hand. "Only a few of us were privy to it, and the tape is in League possession-your secrets are safe with, oh, about a dozen of us." She grinned smugly.

"Great, I feel _so _much better," he said flatly.

"Kim, don't taunt the poor boy, hasn't he dealt with enough?" Jackie put her hand on the other woman's shoulder, and she shrugged it off.

"Oh come on! Even you have to be wondering what she's gonna do when she wakes up. Not that it matters, because loverboy here is pretty much screwed. Violating your pardon agreement was a huuuuge no no." She smiled down at him. "Though it _was _sweet how you tried to protect her."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will down his irritation and the growing knot in the pit of his stomach. Kim had backed off and was now hovering over Maka as Jackie stood nearby, arms crossed over her chest, face blank once more.

Finally, after several minutes and more eerie light, Kim walked over to sit in the chair by the door, Jackie standing stiffly at her side. They stayed there, chatting quietly, mostly about him and Maka from what Soul could tell, for a few minutes before he cleared his throat. "Don't you two-have other things to do?" he asked, voice carefully bored.

"Yes," Jackie said immediately. "But unfortunately, until Harvar or someone else capable returns, you still need a guard."

"And you think you can manage that?" he challenged automatically, his old self resurfacing.

She shrugged slightly, held out a hand, and a ball of white hot fire appeared in her palm. "I'm sure I can," she replied, and there was no arrogance in her tone, only cold hard fact. "I don't enjoy fighting-it's why I work with Kim in the medical wing cauterizing wounds-but I can do it when I must. I don't suggest you test it, especially not in your condition."

"Right," he said with a sigh, sinking back into his pillows. He hadn't been planning on it, but all of this scrutiny on top of the pain and the haziness was grating on his long fraying nerves. He needed Maka to wake up-needed out of here-needed air. Something.

Although he clearly wasn't getting any of that any time soon.

The door swung open again, startling him slightly, and he stifled his half dozenth groan since he'd awoken as Spirit fucking Albarn appeared in the frame, Stein at his shoulder.

Fucking _perfect._

"You done?" He glanced down at Kim.

"Yeah, I-"

"Good, you two are dismissed. Now." The command in his voice was so new that Soul started. So _this _was what made him Death Scythe. Kim and Jackie hurried past, clearly knowing when they weren't wanted or welcome, which left him with a frowning Spirit and a Stein who was smiling far too knowingly for Soul's liking as they both approached his bed slowly.

Whatever their purpose-and they clearly had one-it was destroyed as the door was flung open with a loud shout of "Your god has arrived!" and Black Star hurried into the room, trailed closely by a tall, dark haired beauty with a decidedly Asian cast to her features. Kyle Mortimer wasn't far behind her, and a pair of blonde bombshells strode in his wake, one quite tall. They had the same blue eyes and similar features-Soul recognized the shorter one as Patti from the infiltration, which must have made the taller woman Liz.

They all surrounded his bed eagerly, relegating Spirit and Stein to a corner of the room as the group looked down on Soul.

"Heard you woke up, Soul bro, and figured I should bless you with my presence. Then these losers decided they just _had_ to see how you were doing, too-"

"Black Star," the dark haired beauty reprimanded mildly from his side. They were standing to the left side of the bed, with the sisters at the right, and Kid at the foot. He felt a bit overwhelmed by the sheer press of humanity surrounding him.

"Oh, right! We did it, dude-got everyone out-this is my goddess Tsubaki! But not only that. We fucked up their shit hard core, dude! Me 'n Pat found this crazy machine, see, and those spider bastards were watching that shit like a hawk-so we decided to have a little fun with them. Kicked the crap outta the douche squad-Pat here has deadly aim and a left hook that'd make yo momma weep, totally worthy minion for my divinity-and then, we blew that fucker _up! _I mean boom! Fucking-"

Kid cleared his throat, causing his one time would-be assassin to glare his way, but when Tsubaki put a hand to his shoulder to squeeze lightly, Black Star smiled sheepishly and rubbed a hand through his garish blue hair.

"So, yeah, while Pat and me were wreckin' the joint, Liz and Mifune found the girls and a few others and led them out a back way while all hell was breaking loose-cause we weren't the only ones fucking busy, am I right?"

"Uhhh..." Soul shook his head, too sluggish to deal with the other man's exuberance just then.

"In any case," Kid cut in smoothly. "Black Star is correct-the mission was definitely a success. Not only did we achieve the primary objective of retrieving the hostages, but Black Star and Patricia were able to destroy the machine they had been constructing as a means of mass domination, and you and Maka managed to take out their leader. I have enough now to ensure the rest see jail time-the entire operation was more than I could have hoped for, and I wanted to thank you personally for your part in it."

"You saw the tape," Soul said, rubbing his temples.

"Of course."

"So you all know about me, about Maka, about-everything," he pressed, the cotton in his head becoming a dull throb. Because fuck.

"Well, yes," Kid said mildly. "I have become aware that Maka is the Grigori and was once the Meister. And of course, I know _you_ were the Weapon. I must say, I was surprised to learn of Maka's double life and all that occurred involving you, but she always was a fighter and a kind heart, so I suppose I might have guessed. In any case, it isn't every day you discover such truths about one of your closest friends, and-"

"As lovely as all this is," Soul cut him off, "I really don't feel like listening to the guy who's gonna put me in jail blather on about-"

"Excuse me?" Kid interrupted, puzzled. "But why ever would I put you in jail? Especially considering the service you've just done me?"

"Um, I don't know, the Weapon thing maybe?"

The odd dark haired man offered another dismissive sweep of the hand. "Not my jurisdiction. That's a League matter."

"Oh." Because that made it better. He was reminded of Stein and Spirit and glanced over to see them waiting impatiently on the other side of the room.

Soul suddenly found he'd much prefer to prolong his time with the fucking welcome wagon.

"Alright, so you know about me and Maka and all the shit that went down with that Arachne bitch-what the fuck is this about a machine?" His asking was one part curiosity and two parts stall tactic, but he really did want to know what else had happened.

"Aw, man, the thing was sick!" Black Star shouted. "Steel and wires and glowing shit everywhere-but we took care of business."

"Riiiight?" Patti added from across the bed, and they high fived over his chest, much to his chagrin. "I took those bastards _down_-kneecaps and shit-and Star was all over everything. We tore shit _up_! You totally missed out!"

Liz rolled her eyes visibly, the first time she'd done much. "Patti, you weren't supposed supposed to be tearing anything up. You were supposed to be sticking to the plan."

"Pshaw, sis, you know that thing had to go. Even Kiddo said we did good." She clapped her sister hard on the back, and Liz winced.

"Yeah, yeah, fine, you did alright. Next time just-listen, okay?" The fond exasperation reminded Soul, oddly, of years ago, of his own brother he hadn't seen or spoken to in almost a decade, and he felt his heart tighten in his chest as he wondered how he was doing. He probably wouldn't get the chance to find out after this.

"Maaaaybe," Patti said with a smile that was more wicked than mischievous, and Soul suddenly remembered that these two near strangers seemingly also now knew all about him and Maka, but before he could process that enough to voice the concern that began to shadow his thoughts, Kid was speaking again.

"In any case, the device in question was something the organization had dubbed a 'Moral Manipulation Machine.' It was designed to commandeer portable phone frequencies in order to alter brain waves and make the people affected far more pliable and open to suggestion. It was the plot that I knew existed but could catch no real details about-but now, it's been foiled, the machine and the plans both destroyed. As I said, the operation was more successful that I could have possibly imagined."

"That's-uh-great, I guess," Soul managed. Because it wasn't like he had actually wanted to go off saving the city, but the thing did sound like a royal pain in the ass. Hell, he'd probably have been happy to help smash it to bits even back when he was the Weapon, so it he supposed he should be happy about it, even if it was pretty damned hard to be happy when your life was about to go to shit. He felt like he might vomit. Fuck.

"Well," a voice suddenly spoke from across the room. A cruel, sadistic voice Soul had come to know too well. Mother fucking Stein. "As-touching-as all this has been, visiting hours are over, so if you all wouldn't mind?"

"Yes, of course." Kyle Mortimer turned to the two men standing across from them. "We can continue tomorrow. I owe Mr. Evans a debt of gratitude for his involvement in this, and as Maka is a friend, I would like to assure both of them recover."

Stein nodded with a sardonic little smile. "Oh, yes, they'll recover-I can assure you of that."

"Good then. Well, goodbye, Soul. I will visit tomorrow to check up on you-I'm certain you must have more questions, and I would be more than happy to answer them given everything that's occurred."

Soul nodded, swallowing. Fuck. It was about to go to hell in some white walled shithole of a windowless room. He couldn't even focus on the crowd swarming over him for the sickness in how heart and in his head; even the pain was nothing compared to the feeling of dread washing over him in waves.

Suddenly, there were other goodbyes, other promises to be back tomorrow, a fist bump from Star and then Patti, a pat on the uninjured shoulder from Liz, who told him, unaccountably, how glad she was to see him again, and then only the dark haired woman who Blake had introduced as Tsubaki was left, looking down at him with concern.

"I wanted to thank you-for everything. You, and of course Maka when she wakes up. I don't know everything, but I can tell she loves you and-and if you ever need anything, you can count on my help. And Star's."

"I-" Soul managed through his dread. "Thanks, that's-I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks." she said with a smile. It was radiant, lighting up her face like the evening star lit the night sky, and Soul could see why even a prick like Star might be calm around such perfect serenity. He felt a little calmer himself, even as Stein cleared his throat and Tsubaki bowed and then left the room behind the others.

And then... then he was alone with the dynamic duo.

Fuck fuck _fuck._

"So, Mr. Evans." Stein sauntered over, his sardonic little smile widening. "It would seem you violated your agreement with the League by ceasing your medication. _Most disappointing_."

That maniacal grin looked anything but disappointed, and Soul had to stifle the urge to deck the sadistic bastard. He tried to remind himself that this asshole's Tech was what had allowed him to help Maka for his time as Eater, but it was hard to count that as a positive when he remembered all the bullshit the dick had put him through to get that Tech in the first place, hard not to hate him when everything was going to hell.

"Yeah, I didn't take those idiot fucking pills. But I wasn't using my damn powers either," he bit out, knowing the defense meant little but desperate to try, to do whatever he had to not to be taken away from Maka. Fuck. If she even wanted him anymore. Those two girls had made it clear she was _pissed._

"Oh, I beg to differ," Stein said casually. "You see, the footage from Arachne's sanctuary showed you taking full metallic form only two nights ago."

Ah, yes. The damned footage. Fucking Arachnophobia. So maybe he was screwed, but he wasn't going to let his fuck up hurt anyone else. Aside from which, he'd gladly do it all over again, because in the end, he'd kept Maka alive and that was all that mattered.

"Alright, yes, I fucking used my powers when I had no fucking choice, you're right. The Tech was burnt to a useless crisp-nice job making it resistant to high heat by the way-and it was either use my powers or we both die. I used my powers. So if the League wants to fuck me over for it, fine, whatever. I was the fucking Weapon, the world is well fucking aware at this point it seems, I deserve whatever shit sandwhich you assholes decide shove down my throat." He took a deep, calming breath. "Just-make sure you leave Maka out of it, okay? She had no idea and no involvement."

"Ah, but she was tasked with keeping you in line-she agreed to it when she pleaded for your life. That makes her just as culpable as you."

Soul went pale, his heart dropping. "No, wait, you don't-" he stammered. Fuck this. _Fuck this_, they weren't going to drag her down with him, he'd-

He heard a heavy sigh and noticed that Spirit was standing near Maka's bed. "Stop toying with the kid, Stein," he said, voice bored. He moved over to the other side of Soul's bed and looked down. "Maka's going to be fine, you have my word. Our concern here today is _you._"

The breath of relief he pushed through his lips was obvious, but he didn't care. At least Maka's dad would take care of her. The old lech must be having a party inside about all of this.

"Thanks." Soul nodded. "Guess my ass being thrown into chains for life is enough thanks for you though, right Death Scythe? You've been dying to get me away from Maka since you met me, even before all the Weapon shit. Fucking great day for you this must be."

Spirit shrugged. "I admit I never much liked you, kid. Never much liked any punk who thought he deserved my daughter, especially didn't need some ex-villain asshole sniffing around her. If you ever have a daughter of your own you might get that."

"Well, lucky you, I'm never gonna get that chance. So what's it gonna be anyway? How do you League pricks handle vile scum like me? The rack? Disembowelment? What?"

Stein rolled his eyes. "While all that sounds absolutely intriguing, actually, the League tends to frown upon torture. Generally, true villains, those who are Specials or deemed particularly dangerous, are put on trial and, once found guilty, sent to the Dungeon, a high security facility designed especially for the particularly deranged and dangerous. Not a pleasant existence, so I hear." He smiled viciously, turning the screw lodged in his skull, and Soul shuddered involuntarily, whether in disgust at the creep in front of him or trepidation at his impending fate, he couldn't rightly have said.

"Alright, so I'm gonna go on trial. I get to call a lawyer or some shit?" He wasn't going to go down without a fight, fuck it.

"If you'd like, though I hardly think that's necessary in this case, wouldn't you say, Spirit?" Stein looked thoughtful.

"Mmm-yeah, be a waste. Don't bother, kid."

"Shyeah, like I'm just gonna roll over," Soul bit out.

"You fucked up," Spirit's eyes narrowed. "Do you really want to drag this out, drag Maka through the mud with you?"

And fuck-_fuck_-that was it, wasn't it? Death Scythe had him by the nuts and he fucking knew it, knew his god damn weakness and played it like a finely tuned instrument.

"Fuck you," he growled. "You know I'd never-" he put his head in his hands. "Fine, fine, whatever. I plead guilty. I was the fucking Weapon; I'm a right bastard who fucked up his amnesty agreement because I'm an idiot, because the woman I love means more to me than my own pathetic fucking life. So you know what?" He looked up, his own eyes narrowed. "Fine, great, chain me and take me the hell away. Because you're probably right, Maka will be off better without me, and shit, I doubt she wants me anymore anyway. So yeah, you fucking win. Go throw a party and leave me the hell alone, would you?

Spirit and Stein exchanged a look Soul couldn't read, then Spirit said, tone bored, "You done?"

"Fuck, yes, will you go the fuck away?"

"Sure," he said, punctuating it with a half shrug. "But if I do, you're not going to hear the League's decision."

"Didn't you just fucking tell me they were going to try me and throw my ass into this Dungeon shithole?" he bellowed his frustration.

"Noooo," Stein cut in with a knowing smile. "We told you that villains are _typically_ tried and sent to the Dungeon."

"And I'm a villain, yeah, got it. But fine, you wanna be pricks? Whatever it takes to end this. Please do enlighten me-what just and wise decision has your League of assholes come to?"

"Tsk, tsk," Stein said. "Hardly wise to sling names at those who hold your life in their hands, I think, but very well." His eyes moved to Spirit. "Would you like to tell him, or shall I?"

Spirit pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "I suppose I owe it to Maka to be the one to break the news. Alright, then." The man straightened, brushed invisible dust from his dark suit jacket, and looked Soul squarely in the face, expression blank.

"Soul Evans, once known as the Weapon, later known as Soul Eater, it is the judgement of the high council of the League of Heroes, taking into consideration all of your past actions, your amnesty agreement and subsequent violation, and recent events, that you are hereby declared a probationary member of the League, subject to a vote in six months to determine your final status. During your probation, you will serve the public good under the guidance of the acting hero known as the Grigori, and you will report to council member Death Scythe. You may, as an acting hero, use your inborn special powers in the service of the greater good, but not for your own gain or profit. As a probationary member, you will remain unfunded, but when and if your probation period should end, the League will provide a stipend to aid in your endeavours."

Soul blinked as Death Scythe rattled off what sounded like a script, trying to make sense of the words, of their meaning. "What now?" he managed, his voice too high.

Spirit sighed. "You're off the hook. The League saw the footage and decided you'd be an asset, that by risking your life to defend the Grigori, you'd redeemed your worthless ass. So we're offering you membership, provided you don't screw up your probationary period. You're not gonna screw up, are you?"

"Um, no-I wasn't-" Soul shook his head. "I mean, yeah, no-"

"Good. I saw the tape. Maybe I don't get it, but my daughter loves you-and what's more important, you clearly love her enough to sacrifice yourself for her. I don't have to like you to respect that. Maybe you don't deserve her, but nobody deserves her. Guess I can settle for a punk ex-villain being with my baby girl if he's willing to go to jail without a whimper for her, willing to die for her. Plus, you handled yourself pretty well in the fight with Arachne." Spirit actually smiled then, and it was genuine and reminded him achingly of Maka for the barest instant. He reached a hand down to squeeze Soul's shoulder. "You done good, kid. Just don't fuck it up, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," he said quietly, marvelling at the impossible turn of events, stunned. Him? A hero? He was tempted to pinch himself if it wouldn't have looked totally uncool and borderline insane.

His thoughts were interrupted by Stein, who cleared his throat. "The League has seen fit to outfit you with Tech. While the suit designed for you as Eater was-well, maimed wouldn't be far off-it is impractical to use with your powers active in any case. Actually, it's fascinating you were able to maintain both simultaneously at all, you really do produce phenomenal amounts of energy-" Spirit cleared his own throat, and Stein waved a hand. "But I digress. We've been able to design some anti gravity boots, similar to those Death Scythe used to wear, that will allow you to fly without overly draining your reserves. We'll need to test them, of course-" his glasses glinted evilly, his grin making Soul shudder "-but I believe they will function well, and given Maka's mobility, it behooves her partner to be similarly mobile."

Hero. Flight. Maka as his partner. His head felt light, like it might float off his shoulders. It wasn't possible. Had he died and, what, this was his heaven? Was he in a coma, dreaming his wildest fantasy?

If that was it, he supposed he couldn't do shit about it. May as well enjoy it while it lasted. Soul was rocked from his thoughts again as he felt something heavy fall across his legs and looked down, spotting a thick soft cover book in his lap.

"What the fuck-?" he began, but Stein shrugged.

"Official handbook, you'll want to read it through. Any questions?"

Uhhh-questions? He had a million-he had none-his mind too floaty, too in awe, for rational thought. Could anything be wrong with the world?

Oh, right. Yeah. Maka was pissed, but that wasn't actually a question. He continued to stare, face blank. Spirit had turned his back to check on Maka, and Stein was looking a bit impatient, as he had when the mod squad was there earlier.

Wait. Mod squad-right. Patti and Liz and Kid and the _whole fucking world_ knew who they were. His elation dampened a little, if only just a little.

"Kid's contacts-they know who we are. What about-"

"Elizabeth and Patricia Thompson have performed an invaluable service for the League in helping deal with Arachnophobia, and have been key in Kyle Mortimer's investigation," Stein said, sounding bored. "As they are both Specials-"

"Both-Specials?" Soul questioned, surprised.

"That's right," Stein answered languidly. "Patricia has enhanced senses and reflexes, and Elizabeth has mild powers of the mind-she can use them to sway others. Quite useful. They'll be working closely with Kid, going on assignments and protecting him."

"Oh-that's. That's good," Soul said with a small nod. So it was-okay? He supposed it would have to be.

And then his mind backtracked, latching onto the name Thompson, and how they had seemed vaguely familiar. And how they had seemed to know him just now in the room.

Shit-_those _Thompsons? They had been his neighbors in his first slum apartment when he was just 16, a pathetic runaway using his powers to get by. Liz had taught him some ropes, checked in on him, treated him like he was worth a shit. They were like him, doing what they had to.

Suddenly, he was very glad they had found their way out of that life. They deserved it.

"Well, if that's all?" Stein said suddenly. "Spirit and I will be-"

He didn't get to complete the thought as a loud cry of "Maka! My gem! My life! Papa loves you, I'm so-"

He heard a loud thwap, heard Spirit yelp in pain and step back. "Get off me!" he heard a bleary growl. Ah, the love of his life was awake and clearly in high spirits. The relief that she was okay enough to be awake flooded him before the dread that, _shit, shit, she was awake_ clawed at his heart.

Soul couldn't see her, though, because Spirit's thick ass was in the way, and he needed to see her, touch her, so he sat up straighter and began to scoot off the mattress.

"You really ought to stay in bed," Stein drawled at him as he tried to stand and was wobbly on his feet. Soul ignored him and, noting the IV attached to his arm, clutched at the wheeling pole to hobble towards Maka's bed only a few feet away.

"Maka," he rasped out, emotions high as he caught sight of her red face, her livid, flashing green eyes. She was bolt upright in bed, looking so good, so _her,_ that he wanted to run to her and wished that he could.

"Soul," she breathed for an instant, her hand flying to cover her mouth, her eyes wide as she took him in. Then they narrowed and shifted to Spirit.

"Papa," she commanded imperiously. "I need to talk to Soul-alone."

"But Maka, honey, you only just wo-"

"Now," she snapped, and the man who had only minutes before moved and spoke with practiced command, cringed before the lithe girl in the bed, nodding.

"Yes, yes, I'll just-come back. Papa loves you, okay sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I know," she said, and Spirit slunk away, clearly dejected. Stein followed after, whistling, and threw Soul a look that screamed _you're screwed _over his shoulder before strolling through the door and shutting it after him with a too loud bang and click.

Soul had paused for an instant, but began to walk again, hobble really, until he finally reached the chair Spirit had pulled up to Maka's bedside and sank into the hard plastic gratefully.

She was glaring at him, lips pursed, but at least she was _close _and _awake._ He'd take that.

"Maka," he repeated. "I-"

"No," she said sharply. "You don't talk. You don't get to talk, don't get to make excuses, not yet. You listen. You listen, and then maybe you talk, and when you're done maybe I won't kill you. Maybe."

"Right," he said quietly, feeling sick.

"What you did was stupid. And wrong. _And stupid_. You made a promise, Soul, not just to the League, but to _me_. When I found out you were the Weapon, as hard as that was, I thought that would be the end of it-we'd both lied and we didn't need to lie anymore. And then, when I found out about Eater, it _hurt_-that you were lying again when I thought we were long past that-and we agreed, no more lies. But still, _still_ you lied to me. And I can't do that, Soul, I can't. I can't do lies, I can't do deception. I saw what that does to people all my life, how it _kills_ them, and I won't do that. I won't. So-I need to know. I need to know there won't be any more lies. Because we've had enough of those for a lifetime, and if we can't be honest, then I think-I think we can't _be_. Do you understand?" Her eyes were searching his, earnest, imploring. She was hurt-she was so very hurt and he'd done that and he wanted to crawl into a hole and die and he wanted to hold her and never let go and he wanted to do anything, everything to make it better, make it right.

Soul nodded, swallowing down the thick lump in his throat. "Yeah," he managed. "Yeah," he repeated. He couldn't make more words come, all the words he longed to say like I love you, I need you, I'm sorry; I just wanted to be close to you, protect you, make sure I would never, never lose you; please-_please_-hold me, stay with me, _marry me. _

The last he'd wanted to say for so so long now-wanted so much for the world to know he was hers, always hers, but he'd never been able to do it. He'd never been worthy.

Worthy or not, he was feeling desperate and so afraid and he just-

"And that's all you have to say?" Her fist suddenly gripped hard into her bedding. He could see her hurt morph to anger before his very eyes, seething and raw. "Why'd you do it, Soul?" Her voice was low and dangerous.

"I just-" he stammered, unable to meet her eyes, staring instead at her hands fisting her sheets. "I couldn't lose you. The thought-it killed me. I wanted-_needed_ to be able to help you. Protect you, if I could. I shouldn't have lied to you, I know-_I know_-but I just felt so damn helpless, I was just so damn afraid. So I'm sorry." He raised his eyes to hers. "I'm so so fucking sorry. Not for not taking the pills, and not for helping you, because that kept you safe and I will never, never apologize for that-but for deceiving you. I'm sorry. I love you and I'm sorry."

She looked so torn, so angry. "You bastard!" she screeched and suddenly her pillow was being hurtled in his face. With the strength the Grigori could put behind it, it actually hurt, and he yelped as it slid from his face to his lap. "You-you overprotective-_ugh_! Do you know what the League'll do? I can't-"

"No, no _wait._" And suddenly he was on dangerous ground, occupying the small strip of her bed next to her, but he couldn't take the space anymore, the distance. "It's-it's okay-I swear-I _swear_ it's all going to be okay! Your dad and Stein-they came in to tell me. Well, okay, they came in to fuck with me, but eventually they actually told me-" He was babbling and she was fuming and _shit_-get to the point, Soul, get to the fucking _point_. "I'm gonna be hero, Maka! We're gonna be partners-_partners_-and I can use my powers to help you and the League is cool with it as long as I don't screw it up. See? I'm not a total fuck up anymore. And, shit, I've been wanting to say this for so damn long-" he grabbed her hands and she was looking at him with this gobsmacked expression, jaw slack and fuck he loved her-he _loved_ her, and the words just wouldn't stop. "You're everything, Maka, _everything-_-have been since the second I met you, since I drenched you in coke and bought you pizza. I can't imagine my life without you. Shit-I'd probably be dead or in jail, no I'd _definitely_ be dead or in jail. I know-I _know_ I'm never gonna be worth it, but I'll spend every fucking day trying if you'll let me, if you want me, if you'll marry me."

Her jaw went from slack to on the floor, her eyes wide. He squeezed her hands. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, frozen, shocked. Fuck, what could he do, what could he say? He had rambled his idiot heart out and it was a mess.

"I know I'm supposed to get on one knee or some stupid shit-and have a ring-but you never cared about stuff like that. Hell, you're the type of girl who would get on one knee herself and I love that, love how strong you are, how you take no shit from me or anyone. And I actually _have_ a ring, had a ring for years, just never thought I deserved to give it to you. I still don't, but Maka, I love you and-"

"Soul." Her voice was barely a whisper, but it was all it took to end his stream of words.

"Maka," he breathed, his heart racing. Was she going to tell him off? Or-or-

"Yes," she said quietly. Firmly.

"Y-yes?"

"Yes. I want to marry you. You're an idiot, and I'm still mad at you-probably going to be mad at you for awhile-but I love you, and there's no other idiot I can imagine spending my life with, so yes, I'll marry you. Maybe not _right away_, because we definitely have some things we need to talk about-but yes."

His face felt wet-oh shit, he was actually crying. He _never_ cried, not in years, not since he was a kid. But he was just so happy, so fucking relieved. She accepted him even now, all of him, his past, everything-had accepted his indecent proposal, was willing to spend her life with with him. With _him_. He had turned his life to shit, to ash, not once but twice, and yet, here he was, rising again, rising with Maka by his side. How could he _not _cry? Soul would have moved a hand to swipe away the offending wetness, but Maka beat him to it, bringing up a hand, wiping at his tears with her thumb before cupping his face gently and leaning towards him to press her lips to his own.

It was brief and sweet and completely necessary and he snaked his arms around her, heedless of the IV, just needing to feel her _close_ and _safe_ and _his_.

She pulled away after a bare few moments, leaning against him with a small sigh, the press of their foreheads filling him with undeserved contentment.

"You know you're still in trouble, right?" she asked after several moments.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I know."

"And that if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I'll castrate you," she continued casually, and he swallowed and nodded slightly, forehead leaving hers for an instant.

"Yeah," he acknowledged.

"And I think you're going to need to make it up to me. Quite a few times, actually." As her tongue worked to enunciate the words carefully before flicking out to wet her lips, he caught her meaning; though her voice was light, there was a hint of dark promise in it that made him go warm.

"Definitely," Soul said, voice low and rough and laden with promise of his own.

Maka pulled away to look at him and her smile, brilliant and just a little bit wicked, made his heart soar. Then her soft lips were on his again, warm and eager, and all was right with the world.


End file.
